


Bend

by RudeHellion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Despite the tags this is not a passive Harry Potter, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, I hope at least, Kissing, Like, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Sexual Coercion, Sort Of, almost 20k of plot, but with good magic?, massage therapist au, seriously lots of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudeHellion/pseuds/RudeHellion
Summary: Harry Potter doesn't have to be an Auror to know that gifts from his dear 'Aunt' Bellatrix come with horrific hidden curses. He just didn't expect a trip to a spa to be so fraught with hidden dangers.Massively AU. Smut and worldbuilding.Please read the tags!"I mean," Harry continued, forcing himself to stand straight and not fidget. "I'm not exactly clear on how this works. My Aunt arranged the portkey for me and her letter was… not exactly forthcoming with details. Your—" Coworker? Golem? "— receptionist mentioned something about a Sylvan package, but I missed what that entailed.""Of course," the man replied smoothly, taking a step closer and lowering his hands as he saw Harry relax. "I apologize for the confusion. The constructs who staff certain positions here are good at their jobs, but sometimes there's no replacement for a human touch." The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as his smile broadened, the faint feathering lines the only sign that time had touched him. "My name is Tom. I'll be your spa attendant and your masseuse. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 60
Kudos: 642





	Bend

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> This is my first attempt at smut and, frankly, I have no idea how successful this ended up. I hope it works for those of you who read it, but please, be gentle in your comments, I'm still learning. If I've forgotten a tag please let me know and I'll add it if I think it fits. 
> 
> This fic started in mid-October when my friends were churning out smut at a prodigious rate and I thought, _ah, I'll try that too_. I picked a crack concept I had joked about with a friend and sat down to write a 3k Massage Therapist Happy Ending silly bit of smut. Nearly 35k and two months later, I've ended up with a massive one-shot and enough world building to inspire a sequel, assuming anyone will want to read it.
> 
> As ever, I cannot thank my beta, [TheLadyGia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyGia/pseuds/TheLadyGia), enough for her help! This particular fic was a monster, however, so she mainly helped me beat my commas into submission. Any crimes against the English language that remain are mine and mine alone. Honorable beta mention also goes to [Elli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellionne/pseuds/Ellionne) for her priceless help as a sounding board and as the person with the cattle prod who got me working on this again after I shelved it for most of a month.
> 
> Please don't repost this anywhere without my permission!

"— and of course, that's why we don't want them breeding unsupervised," sneered the gaunt, hunched man seated to Harry's right. "Unsightly things already, aren't they? Imagine what they'd look like left to their own devices. Damn things are already almost more trouble than they're worth." The man's dark, deep-set eyes flashed with venom as his wrinkled face twisted into a scowl. He punctuated his rant with a wild wave of a fork, and Harry was forced to duck out of the line of fire. As he dodged left, his shoulder bumped into the solid warmth of Sirius.

Under the cover of his dinner companion's continued rant about house elves — Harry grimaced and internally vowed to support Hermione's S.P.E.W. crusade with more fervor in the future — Harry elbowed his godfather in the ribs hard enough to hurt. When Sirius failed to bite back a yelp, Harry smirked. Faces down the dinner table turned to glower at his godfather for the disturbance.

"'Just a quick family dinner, Harry,' you said," Harry mocked his godfather quietly. "'I just want a little company to help get me through it.' "

Sirius grinned, rubbing his sore ribs with one hand. He didn’t bother to feign shame. "By Black standards, this  _ is _ quick. It's only been two hours, and we've almost hit the dessert course!"

"Only two hours," Harry repeated flatly. Sirius batted his eyelashes outrageously in reply. He turned back to his conversation with his other neighbor, abandoning his godson in his hour of need. 

Harry snorted indelicately.  _ Traitor _ .

Schooling his face into an expression of polite disinterest, Harry reached for his glass of wine. Getting drunk around his godfather's family was always a terrible idea, but no one had said he couldn’t take the edge off.  _ Frankly _ , Harry thought,  _ at this point getting a little tipsy was worth the risk of running my mouth _ . If he didn’t do something to blunt the edges of this nightmare meal soon he was going to scream. Tuning out his elderly neighbor who was still ranting about house elves —  _ no _ , thought Harry, listening with half an ear,  _ he's moved on to goblins now, apparently _ — he scanned the table.

The dining hall in Grimmauld place was much like the rest of the house — that is to say, musty, Dark and crammed full of antiques. The enchantments cast on the room had allowed the table to expand to fit the nearly forty Black family members who had shown up to this 'quick' dinner. Nothing could make it a comfortable event. 

In Harry’s experience, the thick wards that surrounded any old pureblood home had a peculiar sort of ‘muffling’ effect. Cut off from the natural flow of energy through the world, the remnants of old magic failed to dissipate and grew stale and strange. Traces of spells would linger, saturating the building and, in time, giving it a sort of crude awareness. In a house filled with bright magic and love, this resulted in a cheerful, welcoming presence. The best example of these was Hogwarts, who cherished the children who passed through her halls with the sort of enthusiasm only a thousand-year-old stone mother could bring to bear. In a house like Grimmauld Place, where almost all the magic practiced was Dark, the presence was overwhelming and malevolent. Visiting the ancestral Black home always left Harry feeling like he was sitting beneath a particularly judgmental draft as his skin prickled with chill energy and resentful disdain.

_ Of course _ , Harry thought as he accidentally made eye contact with Bellatrix Lestrange,  _ it might not be the house that’s judging me. It might just be the people in it _ . The wild-haired woman had been doing her best to get his attention since they had been seated, but Harry had been studiously ignoring her. When the meal began Bellatrix had been stationed halfway across the room, so this hadn’t been a difficult thing to do. Unfortunately, somehow during the last course she had managed to talk the man who had been positioned across from Harry into switching places with her. As their eyes locked, Harry resigned himself to the conversation. He supposed the infamous Potter Luck had to run out at some point. 

Bellatrix leaned forward, her dark eyes raptly focused on him, and Harry took a fortifying sip of wine. "Nephew," she crooned, long fingernails clicking on the polished wood. " _ Ickle baby Potter _ , it's so good to see you."

Harry didn't blink. Maintaining eye contact with predators was important, Professor Grubbly-Plank had always been quite clear about that fact. "Am I your nephew?" Harry wondered aloud in reply, struggling to remember the black family tree in relation to his own. 

They were— something. His late Great-Aunt Dorea had been a Black, that much Harry knew, but honestly, the tangled network of pureblood relations was a bore. With the way the old families interbred, Harry had long ago accepted the fact that he was related to literally  _ everyone.  _ Looking back into Bellatrix’ crazed eyes, Harry said a silent prayer of thanks to his mother and her contribution to the Potter gene pool. There but for the grace of the gods...

"Godnephew is too much of a mouthful." Bellatrix snapped. There was a pause, then she smiled again in her disquieting fashion, baring her teeth in a mockery of good cheer. Harry held back a shudder. Sirius' cousin unnerved him; the infamous Black madness ran closer to the surface in her than in most of her relatives. 

Bellatrix had always been a little too interested in Harry for his tastes —  _ probably _ , Harry admitted to himself,  _ because she can sense my unease and finds my attempts to wiggle away entertaining _ . It had become something of a game they played. Harry devoted more time than he'd care to admit to avoiding her at any gathering they were forced to attend together while Bellatrix followed in his wake, hunting him like a shark. Famed Gryffindor courage be damned. The woman was  _ creepy _ .

"It feels like years since we last chatted," Bellatrix said, leaning forward. 

_ It had been _ , Harry thought wistfully,  _ a little over three and counting _ . He had been pleased with that streak and had hoped to maintain it for more years to come. Alas. 

"What a wonderful opportunity to catch up. You've surely graduated from Hogwarts by now, haven't you?" Bellatrix chirped with artificial cheer, hooded eyes gaining a malevolent glitter as she drummed her fingers on the table.

"Three years ago," Harry replied blandly, resisting the urge to hide behind his wine glass. "I'm working for the ministry now."

"Yesss," Bellatrix hissed, propping her chin up in her hand. Like Sirius, she had a casual disregard for the stuffy manners that plagued the rest of the table. It was one of the things that almost made Harry like her. "That's right. I heard about that. Following in your father's footsteps,  _ baby Potter _ ?" Her tone was saccharine and mocking.

Harry felt his eyelid twitch. "I joined the Auror department," he agreed carefully. "I finished my training a few months ago, actually, and I'm working as a junior Auror now. It's been interesting." Harry was lying through his teeth. The work so far had been little better than drudgery and nothing at all like the exciting stories his dad had brought home.

Harry's days alternated between rescuing kneazles from trees, crime scene cleanup and digging through dusty archives to find the case records needed by more senior Aurors. He had known going in that new Aurors got the grunt work, but he had still hoped for a little more than  _ this _ . Between the misadventures of his youth and the two years of Auror training he had gone through, Harry found himself missing the adrenaline he had assumed would go hand in hand with the job. He chafed constantly at the restrictions placed on young Aurors, but not even nepotism could get him placed on more interesting cases before his first year was out. 

Harry sighed.  _ Not that I would want that sort of favoritism from my father anyway _ , he thought glumly. No, he wanted to  _ earn _ what he had, but nonetheless.

Compared to what he was currently doing, even the schoolwork had been better. It had been full of dueling, lessons on combat tactics, in-depth discussions on law and classes on the unique magics and intricacies of the job— and, of course, ceaseless lectures on the need for constant vigilance. Going from  _ that _ to stagnation and coffee runs had given Harry whiplash. At this point, he rather thought he would happily risk his neck just to have something worth being vigilant  _ about _ . 

"Of course," Bellatrix agreed with a smirk. Her eyes flickered with a piercing light that had Harry raising his tawdry occlumency shields to the forefront of his mind, just in case. "I'm sure it's just fascinating work." Leaning back, she tapped her mulberry lips with one long, pale finger. "So stressful, though, and you with your—" Her dark eyes narrowed as she scanned Harry up and down dismissively, "—  _ disadvantages _ ." Harry's fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. 

His status as a half-blood, she meant.  _ Bitch _ .

"I've had no trouble handling things so far," Harry smiled politely and set his empty glass down with hard-won control. Careful to keep his antics hidden by the table between them, Harry kicked a foot sideways, aiming for his godfather's shin. He missed.

"Of course, of course, but I'm sure it can't be easy." Bellatrix purred. She twisted a curl of dark hair around one finger and hummed thoughtfully. "You know, I never did get you a graduation present, did I?" Alarmed, Harry aimed a second sharp kick at Sirius. Any  _ gift _ from Bellatrix was sure to be more curse than solid object.

"There's absolutely no need, Auntie," Harry replied, the polite smile pasted on his face gone taut. "In fact, I'm fairly certain that, er, I received a gift from the Black family as a whole."  _ Maybe? _ Someone had given him a book on 'Living as a Proper Pureblood Should' and it had to have been either the Blacks or the Malfoys. No one else would have cared enough to toss that sort of backhanded insult in his direction.

"Nonsense," Bellatrix coaxed. Her smile was all teeth. "I know my duty, and I’d hate to see you  _ bereft _ of my guidance. What good is an Aunt, if not for these things? I know just the gift.  _ The Spa _ — oh, you wouldn't have heard of it, I suppose, it caters to a rather  _ limited _ —" Bellatrix waved a hand airly and the subtext of,  _ pureblooded _ , was easy to read between the lines. "— Clientele. Well, I'm happy to get you an invitation so you can work off your stress." Her hooded eyes reflected the flickering candlelight as she spoke, and Harry felt a superstitious shiver run down his spine. Even if Bellatrix hadn’t been, well, Bellatrix, Harry knew a bad idea when he heard one. There was something about the way she said  _ The Spa _ that made it clear it was a title, not a generic establishment.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm sure—" Harry began.

Bellatrix laughed loudly, interrupting Harry before he could finish his sentence and drawing the attention of her neighbors. " _ Potter _ , you're not about to turn down a  _ House Black  _ gift, are you?" Her feline smirked broadened as the table around them quieted and Harry was pinned in place by half a dozen dark gazes.

_ Shit. _

"Of course not," Harry lied, resisting the temptation to bury his face in his hands. He couldn't turn the offer down now, not after she had made it in the family name to a representative of a different house.  _ If this kills me _ , Harry vowed,  _ I’m going to spend the rest of my afterlife haunting you, Sirius _ . "Thank you, Auntie," he finished begrudgingly.

"Anything for one of my favorite nephews," Bellatrix cooed with venomous warmth. "I'll send you an owl with the details."

"Great," Harry replied weakly. The remains of the last course vanished from his plate to be replaced with an ornate spun sugar thestral, complete with gently fanning wings. As the conversation around them struck back up and Bellatrix turned her attention to her dessert, Harry leveled a glare at his oblivious Godfather. Sirius was happily gossiping about Celestina Warbeck with the elderly woman next to him, having somehow managed to miss the entire confrontation.

_ The next time Sirius gets bullied into accepting an invitation to one of his family’s dinners, he can go by himself _ , Harry thought bitterly as he scowled down at his dessert. He took a small measure of satisfaction in crushing the candy thestral into small bits with his silver fork.

This meal couldn’t end soon enough.

—

A week later, Harry watched the ticking clock with the air of a man awaiting his execution. He was slouched gloomily on the couch in his living room, dressed in one of the better sets of his casual robes. He turned the portkey from  _ The Spa _ over and over in one hand as he waited for his time to run out. Bellatrix had mailed the enchanted token to him the day after that miserable dinner. Her accompanying letter had been terse, little more than a quick scrawl that gave him the time and date the enclosed portkey would activate. 

Just as Harry had predicted, the letter had been hexed. Harry had been fine; even if he wasn’t naturally (rightfully) suspicious of Bellatrix, he routinely checked all of his mail before touching it. That habit had been brutally instilled in fourth year during a prank war with Malfoy that had gotten out of hand. Still, that wasn’t really the  _ point _ . When Harry had complained to his godfather about it, Sirius had just laughed. Apparently, Bellatrix routinely cursed all of her outgoing mail. His godfather was pretty sure that she believed anyone who didn't check their correspondence for inimical magic deserved what they got.

None of the curses had been fatal.  _ By the standards of Bellatrix Lestrange _ , Harry supposed,  _ that was relatively restrained _ .

Harry ran a thumb over the polished wood of the portkey and hummed unhappily to himself. He was not looking forward to this trip. The token was beautiful; a circle carved from pale yew wood and engraved with a vaguely Celtic knot of entwined snakes. The carving shifted ceaselessly beneath his fingers, the snakes twisting in a pattern that had no beginning and no end. It was a subtle, clever enchantment that was in its own way a brazen declaration of what Harry could expect from the place— expensive, beautiful and up its own arse.

Harry had made a few careful inquiries about  _ The Spa _ . His parents had never heard of it, which wasn't surprising considering who had recommended it, and neither had his godparents. Several of his coworkers from the older family lines had known of it, but none of them had personally been. Harry had been unable to confirm anything more than the fact that it actually existed and, of course, that it catered to rich purebloods exclusively. 

The entire thing made his skin crawl. What sort of legitimate business could afford to hide itself away like this? Worse yet, considering their target audience, what on earth could Bellatrix have offered them to convince them to let a halfblood like Harry in— and  _ why _ would she have done so in the first place?

He didn't think Bellatrix would try to kill him, at least not this indirectly. Harry was pretty sure that if his dear ‘Aunt’ ever wanted him dead she'd just fling an Avada in his direction with no concern for bystanders or potential witnesses. The woman wasn’t the sort to pawn her bloody deeds off on other people, but she'd definitely be entertained by his humiliation.  _ Possibly _ , Harry thought,  _ enough to go through the trouble of setting up something this convoluted. _

The clock was about to chime. Grimacing, Harry got to his feet and straightened his casual robes, brushing invisible specks of lint off the clean black silk. Despite his best efforts to gird his loins for battle, Harry had to admit he felt a bit self-conscious. He was walking into a snake’s den, and he knew he was woefully unprepared. In the end, the only way to spot this trap was to spring it. He couldn’t avoid going without insulting the entire Black family, and they’d started blood feuds for pettier reasons. Bellatrix had cleverly outmaneuvered him. 

Harry's only options were to accept Bellatrix’ gift or to run out and contract some horrible (and fast-acting) magical disease that would allow him to beg off. Between the two, he had decided to risk  _ The Spa _ — primarily because Ron had refused to bring him anything interesting back from St. Mungos.  _ What was the point of being best friends with a Healer-in-Training if they couldn’t help you catch a little plague _ , Harry groused. As the clock called the hour in a cascade of bells, Harry felt a jerk behind his navel, and his fingers were suddenly glued to the wooden portkey. It activated in a kaleidoscopic blur of color and sound, and his home was swept away as Harry was pulled across unknown distances to his destination.

When the portkey released him at last, Harry managed to keep his feet with only a small stumble forward. The stillness of reality was a shock to the senses after the overwhelming whirl of light and sound that was portkey travel. Harry took a moment to catch his breath. Looking around, he found himself standing in a surprisingly austere entry courtyard. His feet were planted solidly on an island of dark rock that thrust out of the center of a narrow rectangular reflecting pool.

Paneled limestone walls rose to either side of Harry, high enough to block out his view of the surrounding landscape. The ceiling was either unroofed or cleverly enchanted to mimic the bright morning sky. The sight reminded Harry of Hogwarts, and he smiled somewhat wistfully. Flowering plants cascaded from boxes that lined the top of the walls in pale lilac ribbons, flooding the courtyard with their sweet fragrance. While the reflecting pool in front of him remained perfectly still, Harry could hear the distant sound of running water echoing off the walls from somewhere ahead. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

A pathway of clouded white light was anchored in the dark rock in front of Harry’s feet. It stretched out and away towards the end of the room, hovering over the center of the narrow pool of water without touching the surface. Lazy shapes curled throughout the bridge, luminous and vaguely serpentine, and the trail ended at a desk against the far wall. The desk sat upon a level floor paved in a dark stone identical to the one Harry stood on. It didn’t appear to be staffed at the moment.

Harry scuffed a boot on the floor and winced at the uncomfortably loud sound. The courtyard was lovely and peaceful, but it felt oddly sterile despite the abundant greenery. The quiet of the room had a tangible weight to it, unleavened by the sound of a bird or a bee, and Harry’s presence felt like an intrusion. Only the soft babble of running water and a whisper of breeze kept the space from feeling utterly suffocating. Harry brushed a hand down the front of his robes and squared his shoulders. Unwelcome or not, he had an invitation.

Clutching the portkey in his hand Harry stepped forward, keeping his movements self-assured and unhurried. When his foot made contact with the glossy surface of the bridge, a ripple of light chased through it, banishing the ghostly ribbons with a soft chime. Harry didn’t break his stride, refusing to flinch away from the unfriendly eyes he could sense more than see. Adrenaline made his skin buzz, and the world around him took on that peculiar form of clarity that Harry only ever found on the battlefield. Even as he kept one eye on the bottomless depths of the water beneath him ( _ constant vigilance _ !), Harry didn’t miss the moment the woman shimmered into existence behind the far desk. It was difficult to pick out many details at this distance, but there was something about the bronze of her skin and the dark wedge of her hair that seemed subtly  _ wrong _ .

Drawing closer, Harry realized with a sense of dawning awe that the figure behind the desk was not a living woman at all. She was some sort of metal golem, a mannequin brought to life through complicated multi-level enchantments. Unlike any golem Harry had seen before, however, this one was a work of art. Her face was finely carved, with narrow features and glittering gemlike eyes that would have done any pureblood woman proud. Dark hair with an iridescent purple sheen was cut close to her skull and her skin appeared soft despite its metallic origins. It was dimpled and curved over faux muscle and bone to mimic organic life to a startling degree. She was clothed in simple robes of pale linen with an embroidered patch in white silk on her breast. As Harry stepped up to the desk, he could see that it formed the same pattern of entwined snakes that had been carved into his portkey.

"Welcome to  _ The Spa _ ," she said with a surprisingly warm smile. The golem's voice was throaty and low with a faint buzzing note that made her sound distinctly inhuman. "Your key, please?" She extended a hand with an insectoid grace. 

Harry placed the pale circle of wood in her palm and watched with interest as it fizzed slowly out of existence. There was complicated magic behind that bit of theater; vanishing something in its entirety was a simple trick any second-year Hogwarts student could do, but controlled decomposition took layered spellwork. It was nothing compared to the work that had gone into the golem in front of him, of course, but the effort expended on minor details was in its own way equally impressive. It was a subtle sort of showmanship that Harry found himself reluctantly appreciating. Looking around at the deceptively simplistic courtyard, Harry updated his initial impression of the place. 

Expensive, beautiful, up its own arse _and_ undeniably brilliant .

"Mr. Potter," the golem continued after a momentary pause. Her eyes darted back and forth as if scanning an invisible document. "I see you've booked our Sylvan package." 

A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention. He glanced up to see the limestone wall to his right had shimmered into a semi-opaque pane of frosted glass, similar to the pathway that hovered behind him. Two silhouettes could be seen behind it apparently caught in conversation, a tall, lean man and a short, sweetly curved woman. Harry watched them with interest for a moment; the man seemed to be dictating instructions of some sort, judging by the amount of bowing and nodding his companion was doing in reply. 

"… and of course, full use of the bathing pools when you're done."

Harry dragged his attention back to the golem in front of him, realizing he'd missed most of what she had said. "Er, sorry?"

The golem continued on as if he hadn't spoken. "Your spa attendant will take you to your rooms. They will be at your service for the entirety of your stay, if you need anything at all please do not hesitate to ask. Your happiness is our pleasure." Bowing stiffly, she shimmered out of existence as abruptly as she had appeared.

"Uhm," Harry said, staring blankly at the empty desk in front of him. "What?"

The low, masculine chuckle that came from behind him made Harry jump and spin around with a strangled yelp. His wand dropped out of his arm holster into his hand, and Harry found himself balanced on the balls of his feet in a dueler's pose before he could stop to think, a shield spell on his lips. The man behind him held his hands up in the air, fingers spread wide in the universal sign for the unarmed. His steady gaze ran over Harry without a trace of fear, and his lips curved up in a disarmingly charming smile.

"I can see you're in dire need of our services, Mr. Potter. You're definitely carrying a lot of tension," The man purred, something wicked buried beneath his low, measured tones. It sent a shiver up Harry's spine, and he stared back uncomprehending for a long moment before flushing a dull crimson and straightening up. "I can help you relieve that,” the man finished, quirking one sculpted brow up in a charming little gesture that left Harry gaping. 

_ Oh _ . Oh right. He was talking about a  _ massage _ . Harry forcibly yanked his mind out of the gutter and did his best to stop the blush he could feel radiating heat across his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Harry replied awkwardly, sheathing his wand in one smooth, well-practiced motion and rubbing one hand across his hot face. He deliberately relaxed his stance, letting his shoulders slump and his weight settle naturally on both feet. Despite Auror Moody’s cries for constant vigilance and the way this place had him on edge, he shouldn’t let his anxiety get the best of him, Harry scolded himself. Harry didn’t need to be on his guard against a  _ masseuse _ of all things. Merlin, he was a trained Auror— even if not much of one yet. Harry darted a glance up at the tall stranger and fought the urge to blush again.

The man— and Harry thought he was a real man this time, not a golem, though his skin seemed almost preternaturally clear and smooth— was gorgeous. Thick chestnut hair was styled to perfection, parted to one side and tamed into gentle waves to frame his oval face. He was lovely in a classically english way, with plush red lips and a firm, rounded chin. His jawline was clean and the planes of his face were flat with high, prominent cheekbones. The man's eyes were a warm chocolate brown, but as he tilted his head to one side and smiled down at Harry they flashed for a moment with a queer, crimson sheen. Harry found himself smiling back automatically.

The masseuse was tall, standing nearly a full head above Harry, with broad shoulders and a trim, athletic build. His narrow waist was emphasized by the well-tailored pale linen robes he wore. They seemed similar in make and style to the ones that had clothed the golem except, Harry noticed with mild interest, that the knotwork of snakes embroidered on the breast of his outer robe was subtly different. Nestled in the center of the abstracted coils was the wedge-shaped head of a viper. Its eyes glittered red, the only drop of color in a sea of natural fibers, and Harry was left with the sudden conviction that it was looking directly at him.

"Uhm," Harry stuttered again, suddenly feeling unkempt and shoddy under the light of those dual gazes. "I'm sorry, I don't,  _ uh _ — I don't understand what's going on?" Harry fought the urge to cringe. Ignorance wasn't a sin, he reminded himself, but there was something about the knowing light in the spa attendant's eyes that made his friendly smile seem more like a smirk. 

"I mean," Harry continued, forcing himself to stand straight and not fidget. "I'm not exactly clear on how this works. My Aunt arranged the portkey for me and her letter was… not exactly forthcoming with details. Your—" Coworker? Golem? "— receptionist mentioned something about a Sylvan package, but I missed what that entailed."

"Of course," the man replied smoothly, taking a step closer and lowering his hands as he saw Harry relax. "I apologize for the confusion. The constructs who staff certain positions here are good at their jobs, but sometimes there's no replacement for a human touch." The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as his smile broadened, the faint feathering lines the only sign that time had touched him. "My name is Tom. I'll be your spa attendant and your masseuse. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

With a gentle, barely-there touch, Tom slid one long-fingered hand around Harry's shoulder and urged him forward, steering him towards the translucent wall Tom had entered through. As they walked, Tom began to explain. "Here at  _ The Spa _ , your package is selected and booked before you arrive. It sounds like your Aunt booked the Sylvan package for you, which is one of our most sought after options. She must care for you a great deal."

Harry thought about Bellatrix's hooded, hateful eyes and shuddered. Whatever this was about, concern for his welfare wasn't a part of it.

When Harry didn't reply, Tom continued on. "Our Sylvan package is the full  _ Spa _ experience. It includes a variety of massages, with and without imbued potions and oils, as well as a series of cleanses that purge your body of any magical taint. We're renowned in particular for our skill with repairing curse damage and removing any lingering trace of dark magic from the wounds. I assure you, Mr. Potter—" Tom's voice dropped an octave and the pressure of his hand on Harry's back subtly increased, "— you'll be very happy you  _ came _ by the end of this."

Harry fought another blush as a spike of unwilling desire shot through him. The way Tom's rich, molten voice dragged across his skin was positively sinful. The man was unfairly gorgeous, and Harry could almost swear there was a subtle emphasis to some of his words that seemed to imply— well. 

_ Nothing _ , Harry told himself,  _ Tom was implying nothing _ . Harry was letting his imagination get away from him. This was a high-end spa, not a  _ brothel _ .

As Tom ushered him forward, the milky wall parted around them with no resistance. It rippled as they stepped through it, and Harry heard another soft chime, presumably alerting the staff who worked in this part of  _ The Spa _ to their presence. The room on the other side was similar in design to the courtyard they had just left, paved and walled in clean, austere limestone with splashes of vibrant greenery, but this space was significantly larger. The ceiling here — and it must have been a cleverly enchanted ceiling after all— showed a dusky sky instead of the well lit morning of the previous room. It left the space awash in brilliant sunset colors and shone above them with a faint scattering of stars.

A variety of baths were scattered across the room, nestled into the landscaping as if they had formed naturally. The sides of the basins were sculpted into seats and the waters steamed and spat sparks in a multitude of colors. They ranged in size from a series of small tiered pools hewn out of bare rock that cascaded into each other along the back wall, to a shimmering blue lake with its edges carefully planted with decorative reeds. Moss flourished between the paving stones, soft underfoot and faintly glowing, and purposefully styled greenery shielded some of the pools from the others allowing privacy for those who desired it. Two of the more private pools had opaque walls of light blocking the entrances and Harry could hear the distant, muted susurrations of voices hidden behind muffling shields.

Tom waited patiently, allowing Harry to take in the room at his leisure. When Harry was done he glanced back up at Tom in a silent query. “To your left,” Tom murmured, matching action to word as he steered Harry towards a carved opening in the limestone wall. As they passed beneath the lintel, Harry glanced at the stonework with interest. More snakes, this time whimsically tangled through the petals of delicately sculpted flowers and small twisting vines. Their blank eyes watched him pass and one of them hissed softly as they walked by.  _ The Spa _ was nothing if not loyal to a motif, Harry thought with bemusement. It made a certain sense to him. For all that many British wizards associated snakes with dark powers, other cultures venerated them for their relationship to healing magics. 

They passed out of the sunset-washed room into a dim corridor and it took a moment for Harry’s eyes to adjust. The sound of running water here was louder than it had been in the bathing room and the air smelled wet and green. Harry’s footsteps sounded odd in the enclosed space, clicking against the polished stone of the floor with a strangely glassy sound. After a moment of inspection, he realized with a start that what he had taken for smooth rock was in fact another glossy light bridge. This one was dark like smoked glass and vaguely translucent. It floated over a stream of running water. 

Through the surface of the bridge Harry could see tiny fish darting about in the depths of the brook. They flocked like small birds, wheeling and parting as they were disturbed by the footsteps above them. Many of them flashed as they wove around each other, shining with subtle magical lights in colors as varied as the rainbow. Together, the show they put on was unlike anything Harry had ever seen outside of one of the wild magic preserves, and he was unwillingly captivated. 

Lily pads floated along the surface of the water and provided shelter to the small fry. Most of them boasted flowers, many-petalled blossoms of pink, lilac and pale blue that lightly perfumed the air. Above it all, indistinct shadowy ribbons coiled and spun through the glass bridge beneath their feet with every step Tom and Harry took. Harry smiled to himself as he watched the sinuous dance. Considering the persistent theme of  _ The Spa _ , the resemblance these strange rolling shadows had to serpents was probably no accident.

The pathway split at multiple points as it progressed down the corridor like branches from the trunk of a tree. Each limb curved away to reach a light-curtained doorway set into the wall. As they walked past the shuttered rooms, heading for some unknown destination deeper within these strange halls, a subtle texture on the sills of the doors caught Harry’s attention. He struggled to slow his steps, but Tom’s guiding hand was firm, and Harry wasn’t given the time to look at the thresholds properly. Still, he thought for sure that there were familiar patterns to be found there, fine lines carved deep into the rock to form runes where the bridge met solid stone. Runes that formed a—

"A modified shield spell?" Harry murmured, head craning to track the doorway they were currently walking past. The warm fingers on his shoulder squeezed gently and Tom let out a soft, interested sound. Harry felt his ears heat up as he blushed again. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

While runework wasn't the passion for him that it was for his mother, Harry had always enjoyed puzzling out the intricate spells. With runes there was no one truth path to the desired result. Countless symbols could be chained together in different combinations to achieve similar results. Each Runemaster or Runemistress ended up with a dialect all their own, a way of speaking and spellcasting that was as unique as a fingerprint. The more complicated the desired spell, the easier it was to pick up on the ‘flavor’ of the caster. All of the runes Harry could see looked to have been carved by the same hand, as best he could tell from his hurried glances. That was… fascinating, actually, and highly unusual. 

Becoming a Runemaster was a tedious thing, the work of a decade or more. Every Runemaster or mistress Harry had known, his own mother included, had hosted a bare minimum of half a dozen apprentices. Runecast spells simply took too much time to carve by hand to leave it all up to one person. With a handful of apprentices at their beck and call, a Runemaster could leave the easy runes in the hands of their apprentices and journeymen and focus their efforts on chaining the fragmented symbols together into the final spell. Because of the many different hands that touched each work, most finished runic carvings had a motley look to them. All of these, however, bore the signs of the sure, steady hand of a singular master.

For spellwork as complicated as this, that was unheard of. It made Harry’s fingers itch to take it apart. The floors alone were worthy of hours of study, Harry had never seen anyone use shield spells like this before. The closest comparison he could draw was that of force fields from one of those trashy muggle science-fiction shows he secretly loved to binge. Harry wondered if the same steady hand and brilliant mind who had layered these runes had done the work on the disturbingly lifelike mannequin who served as a receptionist. He suspected the answer was yes.

It took Harry a moment to drag his thoughts back to the present. “The runes carved into the thresholds of the doors,” he explained belatedly to Tom. “They look like modified shield spells of some kind.”

"Of a sort," Tom agreed. There was something sly about his response and his warm brown eyes glittered in the low light. "Layered with other things. This room is you," he added, changing the subject and pushing Harry gently along a branching path to one of the light-shielded doorways. As they stepped up to the shielded portal, Tom pulled his hand away from Harry’s back (the spot where his fingers had rested felt suddenly cold) and pressed his palm against the door. It chimed twice, then parted before them with a sinuous ripple. Once Harry and Tom had stepped through, it fell back into place behind them, obscuring the hallway from view.

Pale limestone, light wood and lush greenery continued to be the theme of  _ The Spa _ here. A skylight inset deep in the ceiling above them let in the butter-colored afternoon sunlight. It washed over the back wall in a golden sheet, pulling reddish glints from the ferns that covered it in a veritable forest of greenery. A sheet of water fell from the mouth of a stone pipe buried in the foliage, momentarily dazzling as it caught the sunlight. The waterfall landed in a pool at the base of the wall with a thrumming song as it drained through canals that lined the edges of the room. 

A simple iron brazier heaped with porous stone was placed in front of the waterfall and between it and Harry stood a low wooden table, the top padded and wrapped in leather. Along the wall to his left was a narrow workbench that held an assortment of racked decorative glass bottles, unmarked and filled with what Harry could only assume were oils and potions. Bunches of dried herbs hung on the walls and there were cabinets beneath the bench, their contents unknown. To his right was a large wooden divider, carved with simple repeating geometric patterns.

Leaving Harry to his own devices momentarily, Tom walked towards the workbench. As he strode across the room, he shrugged his loose outer robe off and folded it carefully over one arm. Beneath the linen robe Tom wore casual clothes with a comfort that surprised Harry. He somehow managed to look as polished and at ease in them as he had in his finely tailored robes. Harry had to fight the urge to straighten his own robes and smooth his hair— it wouldn’t have done him any good. 

_ No matter what I wear _ , Harry thought wistfully as he watched Tom’s retreating figure.  _ I always end up a disheveled mess within minutes _ . He was careful not to dwell on the newly unveiled sight of Tom’s shapely, well-muscled ass, not even a little. Harry sighed. Tom’s polished silhouette was a thing to envy. Maybe he should finally take his dad up on his offer to teach Harry about some of the neatening spells he was always going on about.

Tom set his folded robe to one side and began to sort through the bottles that were racked on top of the workbench. As he worked, Tom’s loose cotton shirt bunched and tightened in interesting ways, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his back. The billowing sleeves were tied up above Tom’s elbows, exposing his bare, muscled forearms to Harry’s appreciative gaze. Tight black pants of some soft, clinging material accentuated the shape of his legs. They ended at midcalf and Harry blinked in surprise as he realized Tom’s pale feet were bare on the glossy spell-crafted floor. 

"Strip," Tom ordered lightly without bothering to turn around.

"Uhm," said Harry. He guiltily tore his eyes away from Tom’s legs and blinked in confusion.

Tom paused his search and Harry could see him smile from behind, the expression making his cheekbones pop. His low voice was clearly amused. "Strip, Mr. Potter. I can't work on you through your robes."

"Uhm," said Harry again.

Tom pivoted around to face Harry, one hip knocked to the side as he braced himself against the wooden top of the workbench and crossed his arms. His smile was as charming as ever, but Harry felt his breath catch in his throat at the hint of darkness in Tom's gaze.

"This isn't your first time, is it?" Tom purred, gesturing broadly with one hand towards the padded bench. When Harry didn’t answer, Tom’s smile flashed brightly across the room (were his teeth unusually sharp?) and one of his cheeks dimpled. "I promise,  _ I’ll be gentle _ . We're going to start with a general-purpose massage to relax you and help you loosen up. I'll work my way up to the oils and then, the rest. If you're uncomfortable changing in front of me—" the corners of Tom's mouth twitched up, dangerously close to a smirk, "— you can undress behind that folding screen." He nodded towards the paneled divider behind Harry.

"Right," Harry rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's not— I've, uh, I've never been to a spa like this before. But I've… Er. Right. Not my first time." Harry backed away as he fumbled through his reply, feeling as if he had been thrown back into the awkward throes of teenagehood. His tongue and thoughts were tangled, and his mind refused to stop replaying the sound of Tom’s molten voice promising to be  _ gentle. _ When Harry’s back bumped into the corner of the room divider, it came as a blessed relief. He ducked behind the shielding panel of wood and hid his burning face in his hands. Merlin, that had been  _ humiliating _ .

_ Smooth, Harry. Really smooth. _

He wasn't lying, though. Harry had both given and received massages before, but they were usually fumbling things, more foreplay than actual technique. Nothing professional, nothing from any place like  _ this _ . Harry cringed away from the memory of his own garbled reply. 

At least Harry knew humiliation had to be the reason why Bellatrix had sent him here now. Harry was making a mockery of himself. Besides his obvious social faux pas ( _ “Er, uhm, uh,” _ rang Harry’s voice in his ears in a mortifying loop), Harry was aware enough to know he’d probably committed dozens of subtle mistakes that only a pureblood, obsessed as they were with archaic social graces, would recognize. 

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and bit back a groan. Carrying that thought to its logical conclusion, it probably meant that Tom was in on it. Someone had to carry stories of his flailing back for Bellatrix to cackle at, after all. 

_ Maybe, _ Harry thought gloomily as he toyed with the fastenings on his robe,  _ it was supposed to have been that other staff member, the woman I saw Tom speaking with before he introduced himself.  _ That would mean that Harry’s humiliating performance was just for an audience of one, but when that audience was Tom—  _ yeah _ . Harry made sure to keep his deep sigh as quiet as possible. That thought wasn’t much better. Tom was just so bloody  _ gorgeous _ .

Taking a fortifying breath, Harry unbuttoned the neck of his loose black outer robe. It wasn't particularly fashionable, Harry has never been overly concerned with how he looked, but it was well made and comfortable. Shrugging the silk robe off his shoulders, Harry hung it on the edge of the screen and hesitated, glancing around. There wasn't much else back here, just a low bench with a folded sheet on one end and a standing mirror against the wall. Harry gripped the hem of his muggle t-shirt and pulled it up over his head, tossing it on the bench behind him. He toed off his boots and unbuckled his trousers, sliding them off his lean legs and tossing them next to the shirt on the bench. When Harry was down to his pants, he thumbed the elastic waistline nervously and considered his options.

Tom had said strip, but— surely that didn't mean all the way? Harry gnawed on his lower lip, debating his next move. It was probably better to leave his underwear on for the moment, he decided reluctantly. Having to remove it later would be less embarrassing than striding out nude when it wasn't required.  _ Particularly _ , and Harry felt himself flush a little more at the thought,  _ considering the effect Tom seems to have on me _ . 

Harry reached down and adjusted himself delicately. The embarrassment of the moment had helped curb his initial response to Tom disrobing, but there had been definite  _ interest _ . Harry resolutely turned his mind away from the upcoming massage. There was no point in borrowing trouble and wasting time dwelling on Tom running his warm, clever hands all over—  _ no _ . Harry had never been skilled at occlumency, but he did his best to cram those distracting thoughts into a small room and wall them away. 

Harry had left untying the wand holster lashed to his arm for last. Disarming himself, even in a place as outwardly peaceful as this one, made his stomach twist with unease. For a moment Harry could have sworn he heard Instructor Moody's voice bellowing in his ear about the need for  _ constant vigilance _ . It was an effort of will to place his holster and wand on the bench next to his clothes. As Harry straightened, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

A riot of curly hair framed his face like a dark cloud, tendrils twisting every which way with a cheerful disregard for order (and gravity). His bright green eyes, the shape and color shamelessly lifted from his mother's face, were shadowed with faint bruises and Harry grimaced at his own reflection. He traced the bags under his eyes with a light finger, pushing his black-framed glasses up in the process. 

The sleepless nights he had spent trying to figure out a way to avoid this trip had added up in the end. Harry's jaw was rough with stubble, and his normally tanned skin was pale after months of being locked away with the filing cabinets and dust. At least, Harry thought morosely as he poked at his stomach, he hadn't worked his way up to a desk Auror's gut yet. All in all, though, Harry felt a wreck, particularly compared to the sleek perfection that was his masseuse.

The soft clink of glass bottles that had accompanied Tom gathering his supplies had ceased several moments ago. Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't justify dawdling any longer. Gripping his Gryffindor courage in both hands, Harry stepped out from behind the screen. As he marched towards the padded table Harry could feel Tom's heated russet eyes dragging their way across his body from head to toe. Tom was— Harry couldn’t help but peek—  _ fuck _ , definitely smirking now. Harry crossed his arms defensively over his chest as he came to a stop by the massage bench. He tried not to focus on the way his blush was stealing down his neck and spreading across his collarbone.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"There's a sheet on the bench behind the divider, Mr. Potter, if you'd like to grab it to shield your —" Tom's lips twitched, "—modesty."

_ Asshole. _ Harry scowled stubbornly. Tom was definitely laughing at him now. Honestly, he had to be a friend of Bellatrix; Harry couldn't imagine any haughty pureblood putting up with this sort of discourteous treatment for long.  _ Like hell am I going to back down now though _ , Harry thought, jutting his chin forward. If humiliation was what Bellatrix was after, well, she already had more than enough to entertain her. Harry just needed to get through this, shame and anxiety would do him no good. There was plenty of time for that later; he could think about this as he fell asleep for, oh,  _ the rest of his life _ .

"I'm fine. Do I just…" Harry bit out his words, letting the sentence trail off as he gestured towards the leather-wrapped bench beside him.

"First," Tom began, picking a pale yew wand up from the counter next to him and rolling it between his fingers. "I'd like to cast a few spells on you— with your permission, of course, Mr. Potter. Nothing major," Tom's reassuring voice was back to its earlier smooth, buttery charm. "Just a few diagnostic charms to help me get a better idea of the magical damage you've accumulated in your line of work, several cleansing charms, a few other minor odds and ends. If you'll allow me?" There was no hint of snark remaining, but his gaze still felt hot and assessing where it lingered on Harry's bare skin. 

Harry gave a jerky nod of consent. Tom began to cast wordlessly, holding his wand with a careless grace that failed to disguise a dueller’s efficiency. Harry didn’t recognize any of the spells Tom flung at him, his wand moving in clean, graceful lines as he cut magic from the air and released it in flashes of sound and light. As Tom’s magic splashed against Harry’s skin, Harry couldn't hide his full-body shiver. Goosebumps trailed up and down his bare limbs and his cock gave a small interested  _ throb _ as Harry gasped. 

The sweep of Tom’s power felt  _ amazing _ , rough and warm like velvet rubbed the wrong direction. It stroked across his skin, tangled in his bones and sank into Harry’s blood like it belonged there. The intimacy of it left Harry breathless, and he swayed in place as if he had taken a physical blow.  _ What was this? _

Sharing magic wasn’t new to Harry. He had felt his magic tangle with another’s before; when two wizards slept together there was always a bit of  _ overflow _ as control cracked and climax approached. For that matter, thousands of spells, benevolent or otherwise, had been cast on him throughout his lifetime. The magic of unnumbered witches and wizards had washed against his own like the sea crashing upon a rock and retreated in turn with as little lasting impact. None of this should have been new to Harry in any way and yet _ , and yet—  _ against the demanding touch of Tom’s power, Harry had no defense _. _

Tom’s sorcery called Harry’s restless magic to the surface and the peaceful air of the room began to crackle with the energy spinning between them. Harry couldn’t tell if that was the point of Tom's spellcasting or just a ‘lucky’ side effect. Tom’s distant expression didn’t change at any point and his eyes remained clinical and detached. As Harry fought to keep his magic from reaching back he wondered if he was the only one who could hear the charged potential singing in the air. Despite Tom’s unreactive demeanor Harry couldn’t imagine anyone being blind to it; a  _ muggle _ would have felt the weight of this moment pressing down on them. 

As a low, unwilling moan was dragged from his lips, Harry wanted more than anything to flex his own magic and reach back, to bridge the distance between them. The thought of stroking his power against Tom’s in return, exchanging one caress for another and making  _ Tom _ shiver and cry out, was consuming. Only the sheer  _ obscenity _ of the act held him back and helped Harry cling to sanity. 

_Tom,_ Harry reminded himself firmly, _is a masseuse,_ _not a man I’m taking to bed_. That sort of intimate act was reserved for dedicated lovers, not for casual and almost certainly unwelcome flirtation. No one could have known that their cores would be so compatible, so despite the way this _felt,_ it wasn’t an invitation to touch.

Even if the thought of doing so made his prick harden and stomach clench.

Teetering on the edge of desire, Harry’s resolve firmed. Sinking into his core, Harry fought to slow his breathing and began the tedious process of yanking his over-eager magic back beneath his skin. He ignored the last of Tom’s spellcasting as best he could, letting the cool and acerbic bite of the cleansing charms that followed the diagnostic barrage wash over him without comment. When the volley of spells had ended and Harry felt like his grip on his own magic was secure at last, he squared his shoulders and looked back up. 

The silence was oppressive, broken only by Harry’s ragged breathing. Harry’s hands curled into fists as he struggled to keep himself from saying or doing something stupid. Despite the boxers that still covered him, he had never felt more naked in his life. After an uncomfortably long moment, Tom tilted his head to one side in a curiously alien gesture and hummed softly to himself. The sound was low and thoughtful as his coppery gaze caught and held Harry’s emerald one.

"Interesting,” was all Tom said. 

Harry blinked, still reeling.  _ What part of that, exactly, was merely ‘interesting?’ _ Interesting was a feeble term to apply to the storm that had boiled between them. Had Tom somehow failed to notice the way their magic had wanted to tangle together, or was he reacting to something else, something his diagnostic spells had told him? 

_ How on earth can he let all of  _ **_that_ ** _ pass without comment, _ Harry questioned silently. He hesitated, wondering if he should simply ask. It felt presumptuous to do so. If Tom hadn’t felt the magic vibrating between them then trying to force it on him would do Harry no good. This sort of compatibility was usually mutual, but there were no guarantees. If Tom didn’t feel the same then— well, they were little more than strangers. There was no real connection here that would endure beyond the next few awkward hours.  _ Maybe it was better to let it be? _

"Lie down on your front, I'll be with you in a moment." Tom’s instructions were calm, his countenance untroubled as he returned to sorting through the small selection of glass vials. As a nonplussed Harry watched, Tom popped the cork off a bottle of pale green glass that was filled with a thick, syrupy oil and sniffed it delicately.  _ He’s clearly searching for something _ , Harry thought bewilderedly, heart still beating fast.

As hard as it was for Harry to believe, it didn't look like Tom had felt anything out of the usual when casting his spells. Harry huffed softly in disbelief. It also didn't seem like he was going to be volunteering any further information. Reluctantly, Harry decided to follow Tom’s lead and leave things as they lay for the time being.

For lack of anything better to do, Harry gingerly sat down on the massage table as instructed. The padding on the bench was firm, but comfortable. As Harry rolled over and stretched out on the slick leather the surface shifted subtly beneath him, shaping itself to Harry’s slight frame. It cradled Harry’s body like the table had been custom made for him. Pillowing his head on his hands, Harry closed his eyes and returned his focus to his breathing. His skin was still tingling, simultaneously warmed by the brush of Tom's magic and chilled by the strong cleansing charm that has rolled over him. Harry shifted his weight slightly, blushing as something inside him tugged. Cleaner, inside and out.  _ Merlin _ . Harry ran his tongue along his polished teeth and resisted the urge to squirm. That was an uncomfortably thorough array of cleansing charms — was that  _ standard _ ?

Harry didn't know. He had never found the concept of a trip to a spa interesting enough to look into what they entailed before, let alone pursue a visit on his own initiative. Hell, Harry wasn’t interested in visiting a spa  _ now _ . He was only here because his wonderful ‘Aunt’ had forced his hand.

_ Well _ , Harry amended with a huffed, silent laugh,  _ not interested in the traditional spa parts at least. _ Tom had his full attention. As awkward as this strange compatibility was, it wasn’t like Harry was ever planning to return to  _ The Spa _ again. Once he knew for sure that Tom wasn’t helping Bellatrix, maybe Harry could drop him an owl and invite him out for coffee. It was rude and intrusive and Harry didn’t normally do that sort of thing, but— Harry sighed. 

Tom’s magic had felt  _ wonderful _ against his own. Tom wasn’t acting like he had felt the same pull, but there was always a chance that he was simply being professional. If that was the case, Harry could make the first overture once he was out of the client role and Tom could reply as he wished. Pursuing that was worth a bit of social shame and the risk of failure. 

For now, Harry decided to focus on getting through this. He shouldn't let Tom’s snark or subtle leering ( _ was he leering? _ ) fluster him. Of course, he probably shouldn’t let the rest of Tom fluster him, either, but years of futile chess games against Ron had taught Harry to recognize a losing battle when he saw one.

Focused as he was on his own thoughts, the contemplative brush of Tom's hand along Harry’s back came as a shock. Harry sucked in a breath as he peeked up to find himself eye level with Tom’s crotch. Harry buried his face back in his arms and hoped his ears weren’t turning as red as the rest of him. Tom's fingers were warm and gentle as they slid along Harry's skin, caressing their way down the knobs of his spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumb skimmed the faint silvery line of an old scar, Tom made a quiet, inquisitive noise and Harry shivered. From where Tom was standing, hips mere inches from the crown of Harry's head at the top of the massage table, Harry could feel the heat of his body radiating out. He smelled like cedar and woodsmoke, masculine and clean, undercut by the faint musk of his skin.

"I'm going to begin with a neutral oil, just enough to ease the friction of skin on skin. If anything hurts, Mr. Potter, please let me know." Tom said. His thumb traced a teasing circle over the ridge of scar tissue as if in counterpoint to the professional detachment of his words.

"Harry," Harry muttered into his arms, grateful for the springy cloud of hair that helped to hide his expression.

"Pardon?" There was the soft  _ pop _ of a cork being removed, then warm, oil-slicked hands pressed firmly into Harry’s upper back. They began to push down parallel to his spine in smooth, heavy strokes. When Tom's large hands reached the small of Harry's back, they retreated, running along the sides of Harry's torso and up to work his shoulders.

It felt amazing.

"You can call me Harry," Harry repeated, closing his eyes again as he relaxed into the petting. "Meant to tell you earlier, but got distracted."

"Harry," Tom purred, rolling his name in his mouth like it was something to savor. Harry didn't bother opening his eyes to check; he could feel the burn of that smirk without needing to peek. "A pleasure."

Tom kept up the massage for several minutes, his movements practiced and sure as he stroked his way up and down Harry's body. Each glide of his hands left a subtle heat behind it, warming and relaxing Harry with every touch. Enjoying the massage, Harry let himself drift a little. His thoughts inevitably wandered back to the conundrum of this invite.

Beyond the humiliation his basic awkwardness brought to the table, Harry still wasn't sure what Bellatrix was getting out of sending him here.  _ There was probably some sort of subtle barb buried in the invitation itself _ , Harry thought. Some devious insult he would have been able to identify if he had been a  _ proper _ pureblood, but whatever it might be, it was escaping him. 

In this moment, with the gentle sounds of running water in the background and the feel of Tom's hands playing across his body, Harry figured it was a fair trade. He didn't spend a lot of time playing pureblood games, after all.  _ If this is a mark against me on some invisible scoresheet _ , Harry thought, eyes narrowed into blissful slits,  _ I can’t work up the energy to worry about it _ . None of the circles he ran in would ever notice (or care if they did), and if getting one over him would make Bellatrix feel better, well. 

Harry groaned softly as Tom’s clever hands managed to coax another knot out of his shoulders. This was  _ definitely _ a sacrifice he was happy to make.

Harry surfaced out of his state of drifting contentment when Tom pulled away and circled around to the foot of the padded table. At the first touch of Tom's hands on his thigh, Harry let out a startled hiss and reflexively tried to jerk away. 

“None of that, Harry,” Tom murmured, squeezing Harry’s leg. “If you tense up, you’ll ruin all of my hard work.” Without waiting for Harry to settle, he returned to his task. Every time Harry twitched Tom would press down on him firmly, holding him still. His hands stroked up the sensitive skin on the inside of Harry's legs, patient and slow like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. It felt like his fingers were trailing sparks in their wake. Harry’s cock gave another twitch of interest and a spike of desire lanced through him.

_ Fuck. _

Harry had already been at half-mast after that showy display of magic. Harry cast his mind around, trying to think of something to take his mind off of—  _ Tom's fingertips skimmed the edge of his boxers _ — the dangerously pleasant massage. Something.  _ Anything _ .

There was nothing. Harry's world was narrowing down to one of sensation, the heat of contact and the texture of Tom's hands as they ran across his body. Every time Tom traced his way up the back of Harry's thighs those clever fingers seemed to inch their way a little higher, a little closer to the sensitive heart of him. Harry felt himself torn between dread and anticipation. When Tom began to knead the muscle, tugging and pulling in ways that sent shivers down Harry's spine, he had to fight to keep his breathing steady.

"Relax, Harry," Tom's voice was tranquil, untouched by the heat his hands had kindled inside of Harry. "You're doing great. It's time to flip over now."

Harry stiffened, torn out of the gentle haze of pleasure the massage had been building in him. He was hard. The thin, clinging material of his boxers would do nothing to hide that fact. Harry swallowed and buried his face in his arms. His entire body felt like it was blushing now.

Tom's hands came up along the side of his shoulder and began to gently guide Harry over. Cursing internally, Harry let himself be moved. There was nothing else he could do. Protesting would only make things look worse. Flat on his back, Harry threw one arm over his face and refused to look at Tom. Maybe if he willed it hard enough, the earth would reach up and swallow him whole. Accidental magic wasn't completely unheard of for someone his age, right?

The embarrassment wasn't even making his erection flag. If anything, Harry felt like his skin had been sensitized to the heat of Tom's gaze, like every sweep of his eyes was an echo of that earlier brush of magic, warm and rough and enticing. Tom didn’t comment on Harry’s obvious aroused state, but Harry wanted to imagine he could feel the tension in the air between them nonetheless. There was the sound of a cork being loosened, then oil-slicked hands ran their way down his chest. As the pads of Tom’s fingers grazed his nipples, Harry's hips jerked and his prick throbbed.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, mortified. Harry's body had reacted without consulting him.

"It's fine," Tom soothed, slanting the firm pressure of his strokes to avoid the sensitized nubs of flesh. His voice was calm, but Harry had grown accustomed to Tom’s dissembling and could pick up the faint edge of dark amusement that lined it. Harry peeked out from underneath his forearm and met Tom’s bright eyes with embarrassed trepidation. Tom dropped his gaze to Harry’s prominent erection and—  _ gods, kill me now _ — smirked slightly. "It's not an uncommon reaction,” Tom drawled in a poor facsimile of comfort. Harry stared back at him in flat disbelief. “Move your hands back down to your sides," he instructed, setting his face back into a proper pureblood mask.

Reluctantly, Harry did as ordered. Without his arm to shield his face, he felt uncomfortably exposed. Tom’s mercurial moods were confusing. Harry still couldn’t tell if he was flirting, mocking, oblivious or simply an unprofessional  _ git _ . Regardless, the desire that was coiling in the pit of his stomach refused to lessen, fed by Tom’s expert touch and the weight of those intense eyes. Harry stared straight up at the ceiling and tried to think unsexy thoughts.

"You have a surprising number of scars for a man your age," Tom remarked, stroking his hands down Harry's left arm and caressing the dimpled puncture wound half a hand above his elbow. "Life as an Auror must be rough to do so much damage so fast. What caused this?” He tapped one long finger against the scar.

"Ah," replied Harry eloquently. He struggled to gather his wits, grateful for the proffered distraction. "Auror life isn’t so bad. I'm a junior Auror, there isn't much to the job besides paperwork and coffee runs," he joked weakly. "That one's, uhm. That one's from a runespoor."

That caught Tom's attention. He settled some of his weight on the padded leather bench and examined the scar with more interest as he massaged the surrounding flesh. Harry tried not to focus on the place where Tom’s hip was brushing against his thigh. Merlin, the man had the body temperature of a  _ furnace _ .

"Oh? How did you meet a runespoor?” Tom sounded genuinely curious. “You must have been very young. The scar is old and there's barely any dark magic still lingering in it." He didn't pause in his work as he spoke, moving down to hold Harry's hand in his as he massaged the palm. Tom rubbed firm circles into the muscle at the base of Harry's thumb and Harry's eyes went half-lidded in bliss. Tom's hands were positively  _ magical _ . 

"Vacation. Second-year." Harry replied after a long moment. He hoped he wasn’t drooling. "My godfather wanted to visit one of the magical preserves in Africa and, er, long story short, I got between a runespoor and an egg poacher. It wasn’t the smartest move on my part. She was very sorry to have bitten me afterwards, I think." 

The runespoor actually had been very apologetic when Harry had woken up, all three of her heads in surprising agreement. Her venom would have killed him if she hadn’t intervened and saved his life with her blood and magic. The poacher... hadn't been as lucky. Harry held back a shudder as the image of that mangled corpse floated through his mind. It remained one of the ugliest deaths he’d witnessed to this day and the memory of it was enough to temporarily cool his ardeur.  _ At least _ , he thought grimly,  _ that helps handle my erection problem _ . 

"Worked out for the best in the end." Harry finished, eager to move on. 

Tom released Harry’s hand, reaching up to run his thumb across the dimpled mark in question. He lingered for a moment, testing the texture of the scar tissue with his thumb. A prickle of unease ran up Harry’s spine— had Tom’s eyes changed color? He would swear they had been a rich, chocolate brown, but somewhere along the way they had lightened up to a reddish amber, clear and cold. Then Tom smiled again, his handsome face radiating warmth, and Harry dismissed the thought as a trick of the light.

"Second year of Hogwarts and you survived? That’s amazing. A runespoor's venom is potent, second in deadliness only to basilisk. You must have had excellent healers to come through so unscathed." Tom commented, looking impressed. Harry shrugged uncomfortably in reply. He supposed he had, in a sense. Who better to know how to repair the damage of a runespoor's venom than the runespoor herself? The gifts the process had left him with were just a bonus. 

Tom rose gracefully to his feet and made his way to the other side of the bench. Harry tracked his movement, unwilling to look away. Maintaining eye contact felt important. Tom settled against his right side and took Harry’s other arm in his hands. 

"And what about this one?" He asked, tracing the raised line of a knife wound down Harry’s right forearm.

"Erm, cursed knife," Harry explained with a shiver, goosebumps trailing behind Tom's curious touch. "Fourth-year, I went to Egypt with my godfather.”

“The same godfather?” Tom asked with a smirk as he began to massage the right arm as he had the left. Harry laughed.

“Yeah, the same guy. He’s great, but he’s not exactly safety conscious, and I was always a little too curious for my own good. Anyway, a friend had won a trip to Egypt the year before and he made it sound interesting, so—" Harry shrugged as best he could with one hand pinioned in Tom's unyielding grip. "I managed to wheedle Sirius into taking me. It was brilliant, up until the point where I, uh, went exploring on my own and got myself kidnapped."

Tom snorted. "On your own in  _ Egypt _ ? At, what— fourth-year, so thirteen? Fourteen?"

Harry grinned. "I know It wasn't the brightest move. Anyway, they needed 'virgin blood' for a ritual and, well, I'm just lucky my godfather showed up in time. And that the friend he brought with him was a Gringotts cursebreaker," Harry added. Tom's rolling chuckle made Harry's skin heat, and he found himself smiling giddily up at the ceiling. Merlin, but the man was unfairly attractive.

"None of the rest have interesting stories," Harry continued after the sounds of Tom's mirth had died away. He felt a pang of regret as Tom released his hand and got back to his feet. Already Harry missed his touch. "I spent a little time trying my hand at the dueling circuit before joining the Aurors. A lot of the low-level stuff is, y'know, pretty poorly regulated, so some of the curses trended darker than were technically legal. Some schoolyard brawls, one memorable trip into Knockturn where I picked up the wrong bit of merchandise. Just life, really."

"You have a fair amount of history beaten into your skin, Harry," Tom said. The way he said his name made Harry shiver. Thankfully, his burgeoning erection had flagged somewhat with the conversation as a distraction. "However, I'm sure I can repair most of it. Now that you've relaxed, I'm going to move on to the second step of the process."

"What’s the second step?" Harry asked, curious. "The, uh, magical cleansing you mentioned?"

Tom smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Exactly. First, we're going to make your magic visible so it's easier to manipulate. Be sure to breathe the steam in deeply."

Harry turned his head to the side, tracking Tom's movements as he walked away. He lit the iron brazier in passing with a wordless, wandless flick of his fingers, and Harry's eyebrows rose despite himself, impressed. Tom had to have exceptionally fine control of his magic to manage  _ that _ trick. Harry could do little more than call light or summon objects to his hand and he was considered exceptional for even that much.

Returning to the workbench, Tom placed the sea-green vial of translucent oil back in its place. He trailed his fingers across the assorted containers before selecting a rough stoneware jug. He unstoppered it and gave it a careful sniff, then sent it floating over to the brazier with another careless wave of his fingers. Harry watched curiously as it emptied itself over the firepit. 

The milky jade liquid hissed and spat as it hit the glowing coals and erupted in a cloud of steam. The haze that billowed up was light green in color and smelled like rosemary and something else, something subtle and earthy that was difficult for Harry to pinpoint. It filled the small room easily, catching fire in the golden sunlight that pooled in from the skylight above and blending into the pale limestone walls in a way that made everything seem somewhat distant and surreal.

As the fog rolled over him, Harry inhaled deeply as Tom had instructed. Every breath fed a growing sense of mild euphoria, and Harry felt his already loose body go lax and boneless. It was as if his limbs had grown exponentially in weight. The heavy hand of gravity alone was enough to hold him captive, pinned against the table like a butterfly. As he relaxed into her grip, Harry’s skin began to prickle with pins and needles, and the tips of his fingers went numb. There was a buzzing growing behind his breastbone that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

_ What was in that potion,  _ Harry wondered, struggling to dredge up the appropriate level of alarm. He didn’t recognize any of the hallmarks of a Class Four forbidden substance; it didn’t have the rank sulfur note that would have accompanied mermaid tears or the bitter anise of soldier’s folly, for example.  _ Still _ , Harry thought giddily as his heartbeat sped up,  _ there was something unusual in that bottle _ .

For a moment Harry felt a frisson of fear run up his spine. His mind was spinning and his thoughts were as flighty and difficult to grasp as the puffs of steam that surrounded him. Something was  _ wrong _ , but he couldn't focus long enough to figure out what it was. The effervescent buzz inside his chest kept distracting him. 

As the tingling vibration spread to fill his body, a subtle, shifting glow caught his attention and all thoughts of trepidation were lost. It took an effort of will, but Harry managed to lift a hand and hold it above his head. He watched with bemused fascination as his skin began to emit a faint golden radiance. Harry twisted his hand one way, then another, watching the light ripple and smear with each movement as it clung to his skin.

"Huh." Harry said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. As he twisted his arm around once more, Harry found himself arrested by a smear of reddish-brown on his forearm.  _ Was that blood? _ Peering closer, Harry realized the discoloration was tracing the outline of the knife scar from his misadventures in Egypt. "So, is this the magical damage?" He asked, shaping his words with care.

Tom's pale hand reached out into Harry's line of vision to grip his wrist firmly and turn it over. As their skin touched, Harry gasped and twitched. The desire he had managed to make himself forget reignited in an instant as the rough velvet brush of Tom's magic stroked against him. Tom traced the line of the scar with one warm finger and the gentle scrape of his nail was an almost unendurably erotic sensation. Harry chewed on his lower lip, biting back a moan. He felt like every millimeter of his skin was attuned to Tom's touch.

"Exactly," Tom said, his eyes glued to Harry's face. His expression was smug and satisfied, as if he had found what he was seeking in Harry's dilated emerald gaze. Tom let Harry's wrist drop and moved to stand by his side, regard skimming shamelessly down the lean lines of Harry's prone form. When Harry tilted his head to track Tom’s gaze, he could see other places on his body where the golden glow that rose out of his skin was patchy and streaked with faint color. 

With a glance back up at Harry’s dazed expression, Tom pressed a hand against the livid blush of purple that shimmered over the faded scar on Harry’s ribs. Harry’s response was immediate; he gasped and arched up into Tom’s caress like an eager housecat. His mind was spinning and it felt so  _ good _ to be touched. The velveteen rasp of magic between them lapped at him like a rough tongue, curling intimately with the golden power that rose from Harry’s skin. Tom chuckled again, low and pleased, and spread his fingers, curving them to press into Harry's flesh hard enough to dimple his skin. He pushed Harry back against the table firmly, lips curving in a cruel smile.

"Easy, darling," Tom drawled. "No need to be so eager. Let me look at you." 

Harry rolled his head to one side listlessly, drowning in the dueling sensations of buzzing light and rasping velvet. His toes curled as he pressed his feet into the slick leather of the couch, trying to physically brace himself against the hum shaking his bones apart.  _ What was going on _ ? The thought rang through Harry’s mind, and a growing sense of wrongness made his heart drum inside his chest.

"Is it supposed to feel like this?" Harry panted, struggling to gather his scattered thoughts. The song of his magic was loud in his ears, and the taste of rosemary and musk was heavy on his tongue. Harry’s skin felt too tight and hot, like he had been scorched by the sun, and every nerve was raw. As Tom pulled his hand away, the glow emanating from Harry's skin clung to him, as reluctant to release Tom's warmth as the rest of Harry. It was an odd sensation, like someone had looped a thread around his magical core and was tugging on it. Harry couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful, it simply  _ was _ .

"Everyone experiences this part differently," Tom replied distractedly. He rubbed his fingers together like he could still feel Harry's magic clinging to them. Harry sank back down to the table, breathing hard. He wondered why Tom wasn’t glowing to match him. Tom’s pale skin was luminous in the golden afternoon sun, but it was a reflective light, not an innate one. 

As Tom dropped his hand back down to his side, it glittered oddly. When Harry focused on him, backlit by the light, he could see that Tom was covered with tiny beads of moisture where the steam was condensing on his skin. It made him look like he was coated in countless diminutive scales. His eyes, when he lowered his gaze to meet Harry's, were an ochre color reminiscent of bloody soil. He smiled, and it was a cold and hungry thing, white teeth framed by red lips like raw flesh and bone. 

Even through the pleasurable haze distorting his thoughts, Harry felt a spike of alarm.

"Your magic is lovely, Harry. I've never felt its like before," Tom added, sounding pleased. He gestured, and a glass vial Harry hadn’t noticed before bobbed forward obediently at his command. It poured a slick of golden oil into Tom’s cupped hands, thick rivulets that dripped off his palms and overflowed to puddle on Harry's stomach. Everywhere the oil touched, Harry  _ burned _ . 

The strong scent of jasmine bloomed, obliterating Harry's senses and drowning out the warm cedar and woodsmoke smell of Tom. When Tom ran his slick hand down Harry's chest, Harry didn't bother holding back the soft moan that rose in his throat as he pushed back into the touch. His cock twitched and swelled, pushing against the constraint of his boxers and tenting the thin fabric visibly.

"What," Harry gasped, breathless. "What's in that?"

"Nothing to worry about," Tom crooned. He settled on the bench next to Harry, hip cocked at an angle and one lean thigh pressing against Harry's body like a firebrand. Harry couldn't look away from his cold, gorgeous face as Tom leaned over him, elegant fingers chasing lines of fire along his torso as he worked the oil into Harry's skin.

"It's just oil infused with herbs and spells to encourage you to relax. It helps your magic rise to the surface. It’s perfectly safe, Harry. I promise. Look," and Tom ran one hand across Harry's chest, deliberately strumming a thumb over a nipple again. Harry whimpered, stomach muscles contracting at the sensation. Tom pulled his hand away, and Harry's magic went with it, dripping from Tom's fingers in gleaming golden threads like the oil had moments before.

"I can touch you now," Tom murmured, a thread of true excitement in his calm, subtly sardonic voice. "I can manipulate your magic directly and pull the dark taint from your skin. I know it feels intense," and the mockery was back, less concealed than before, "but I promise you'll be happy with the result. Just lie back and let me work."

Harry threw a hand up to cover his eyes, breathing harshly and struggling to pull his thoughts together. The scent of jasmine and rosemary was choking him, drowning his mind in white noise and crushed herbs. A skitter of alarm rolled across his skin like static electricity, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. He couldn’t— he just needed— Tom was  _ so close _ . Why couldn’t he think of anything else?

Tom made a soft  _ tsking _ sound. His long, elegant fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist like a band of iron and dragged his arm back down to his side. "I can't work on you if I can't reach you, Harry." Tom wasn't bothering with the veneer of professionalism at all anymore; his words dripped like sin off his tongue. "And oh, darling, look, you've got oil all over your glasses. Let me take those for you." 

Nimble fingers lifted the thick black frames off Harry's face before he could gather himself together enough to object. There was a quiet ' _ click _ ' as the hinges folded and Tom gestured with a finger, sending them away someplace out Harry's line of sight. Harry stared up at the blurred ceiling, his breath hitching in his throat and his dick throbbing hard enough to hurt. Everything was out of focus now— everything, but Tom.

"There now, isn't this better? You have such lovely eyes, it's a pity to hide them." Tom purred, brushing the back of one hand against Harry's cheek. His magic rasped a sweet counterpoint to the warm glide of Tom's skin, making Harry’s eyelashes flutter helplessly. When Tom withdrew, syrupy golden magic clung to his fingers, reluctant to release him. Harry thought it took longer for his magic to snap back to his skin this time, but it was a struggle for him to keep things straight at the moment.

Tom leaned across Harry's body to grab his right arm, fingers sliding up to loosely cup the wrist. Harry could feel the heat of Tom's torso through the thin fabric of his shirt where they pressed together. The rough velvet tongue of Tom's magic licked its way along the line of their bodies, and Harry's hips gave another abortive roll at the sensation. It felt so good. Everything felt so good. The room was beginning to take on a dreamlike quality, languid and heavy with the promise of pleasure. Harry’s limbs remained too heavy to easily move, adding to the effect.

Tom examined the line of rust-colored dark magic with interest, tilting Harry's arm back and forth as if he were some oversized doll. He looked pleased with the way the ruddy stain wobbled and rolled as he manipulated the limb. The golden glow of Harry’s power wasn’t clinging tightly to his skin anymore. Instead, it draped itself across him in loose golden clouds, rippling like disturbed water where Tom touched it and chasing after Harry’s arm only reluctantly when it was moved. It was strangely beautiful, like an after-echo made of light. It was also a lot easier to see the dappled color of Harry’s scars. Tom traced the line of sullied magic with one finger once more and this time Harry  _ did _ sob.

"Don't," Harry begged, "Don’t touch it. It's too much, I'm feeling so—" Harry shuddered, unable to complete the sentence. Too good, too hot, too hungry, too overwhelmed. He was aching with desire, and his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life; arousal was pulsing through his veins, a howling demand for more of what Tom was taunting him with. Harry had wanted Tom despite himself from the moment they had met, an unwilling fascination that had been fed by the compatibility of their magic, but it had been nothing like  _ this _ . This was an inferno.

_ Ah, _ Harry realized, the conclusion swimming up through his dizzy mind at last.  _ I’ve been drugged,  _ The thought fell away as easily as it had surfaced; it didn’t feel all that important right now. It was something for him to worry over later, a problem for future Harry. Right now, all Harry could focus on was how  _ empty _ he felt, like someone had hollowed out a space in his soul that only Tom could fill. Tom’s magic still sang where it touched his, rasping at his sanity and eroding his control, but it wasn’t enough. Harry needed more even as he begged Tom to stop.

This time, Tom ignored Harry's words. He summoned his wand out of some hidden pocket and pulled Harry's arm taut. "Brace yourself, Harry," he murmured, crimson eyes alight with a fervent gleam. There was a feral cast to his gorgeous features now. Something inhuman was pressing against the skin from the inside and eating away at the gentle English beauty.

His cheekbones were starker, the planes of his face hollowed and refined in some merciless crucible. His lips were severe in their perfection, a bloody slash across his pale face, and his tamed waves of chestnut hair had frayed around the edges, curling gently in the hot steam that filled the room. Even through the haze of hunger thundering through his body, Harry was enthralled and repelled in equal measure.

Tom was so beautifully  _ monstrous. _

Shifting his grip, Tom rolled the yew wand along the ochre stain of dark magic. Whatever spell he cast was wordless, but Harry could feel the focus behind it. The rough velvet stroke of his power against Harry's grew a little sharper, a little harsher and more painful. The edge of abrasive pain was almost a relief. It grounded Harry, gave him something to focus on through the artificially overwhelming haze of pleasure, though it did nothing to diminish his throbbing desire.

As Harry shivered and jerked in Tom's iron grip, he watched the dark taint peel up bit by bit to spool around the pale wood of Tom's wand like a bit of string. When the last threads of the curse were pulled free of Harry's magic the glow on his wrist flared with a buoyant light. The release of it bowed his spine, making Harry gasp as he clutched at Tom for support with his unfettered hand.

It wasn't pleasure that thrummed through Harry’s body this time, but  _ release _ . There had been an intangible weight around his wrist, an invisible shackle that had weighed him down that had somehow escaped his notice for all of these years,  _ and now it was gone _ . The scrap of malevolent magic wrapped around Tom’s wand fluttered wildly in a nonexistent breeze, and Harry shuddered. It looked to him like it was yearning to anchor itself in his magic once more. It felt  _ hungry _ . How had a parasite like that festered beneath his skin for so many years without his notice?

Tom smiled at the dark ribbon of magic he had torn from Harry's flesh with predatory satisfaction. The stark wildness was gone from his face, and he was merely lovely once more, diminished into something merely human. His eyes told the truth, however, blazing a pure bloody crimson that made Harry wonder how he had ever mistaken them for brown.  _ So much for constant vigilance, _ Harry thought with the insane urge to laugh. Flicking his wrist elegantly, Tom tossed the ugly rust-colored ribbon of magic across the room to land with a sizzle in the brazier. For a moment the room seemed to darken, then the fire roared up and the shadow was consumed.

"There now," Tom murmured, releasing Harry's wrist and stroking one hand down his flank like he was trying to calm an overwrought animal. "That was the worst of it. The rest of the damage isn’t as deeply embedded, I’ll have no trouble prying it loose." He continued to pet Harry, red eyes staring steadily into green. Harry didn’t know what he was looking for.

Harry swallowed. "Was that some form of curse?" He croaked after a long moment of silence, meeting Tom's coldly amused gaze with a heated, heavy-lidded stare. He couldn't help the helpless little twitch he gave every time Tom’s long fingers toyed with the soft, flimsy fabric of his boxers. 

"Some form of," Tom agreed, smiling charmingly down at Harry and sliding his hand an inch further up his leg. The tips of his fingers were beneath Harry’s boxers now and it made Harry suck in a startled breath. "It would be better to think of it as a lingering malaise rather than any specific ailment. There was no directing will to the shaping of it, but dark magic is inimical by nature and burns the hands of those who don't know how to properly wield it or shield against it." 

Tom’s low voice was hypnotic. Harry found it difficult to focus on the words, but the sound of it washed over him in gentle susurrations. Tom kept up a running commentary as he began to work his way across Harry’s body, pulling the shadows of old wounds out of the glow of his magic. Harry allowed himself to be positioned as Tom wished, acceding to the demand of his gently urging hands with a docility that should have shocked him. Tom’s wand scraped lines of fire over his sensitive flesh and Harry no longer had the presence of mind to even try to hide his response.

It was euphoric. There was pleasure there, always pleasure, tangled where their magics met and skin touched, but there was relief, too. Tom coaxed the preternaturally heavy (weightless) remnants of dark magic out of him with the skillful touch of a healer. Every scrap pulled free was a burden laid down and his core resonated like a plucked string. It rolled through him and mixed with the heady flame of desire already kindled there as Tom lavished him with mocking praise at every step, a savage contrast to his kind, gentle hands.

"This one," Tom murmured, tracing the outline of a faint silver slash on the outside of Harry's thigh, "I won't even need my wand for." There was barely a dimple in the light that rose from Harry's skin to mark its existence, just the faintest brush of sickly green against the gold like a faded bruise. Tom braced one hand on the jut of Harry's hipbone and stroked the other up the muscle of Harry's thigh. His thumb slid underneath the dim green mark and Tom's magic rasped at Harry's skin as it cut away the blemish as if with a knife. There was no need to burn this scrap of tainted magic— severed of its connection to Harry. It withered away in midair until it had vanished from sight entirely.

Tom's hand had ended all the way up at the crease of Harry's thigh, completely hidden by the fabric of his boxers and Harry made a soft, hungry sound, body spasming. Harry could feel the heat of him; all Tom needed to do was spread his fingers and he would be able to brush up against the side of Harry’s swollen prick. Tom chuckled dark and low when Harry's cock jerked against its fabric prison. He was leaking copiously, there was a damp patch over the glans that was beginning to spread. Tom was close to touching him,  _ so close _ , and every slide of that long-fingered hand only stocked the fire.

Harry was choking on jasmine and lust.

There was no subtly left to his arousal.  _ Not, _ Harry thought with a sudden surge of bitterness,  _ that subtly was the point. _ He had been drugged, after all. His lip curled and Harry found himself rolling his hips, fruitlessly chasing the contact that Tom was denying him. Despite the cool detachment of Tom’s words, he had been feeding the fire deliberately since the beginning with a litany of teasing words and possessive touches that were blindingly clear in hindsight. This massage had long since passed any boundaries of professionalism and Harry found himself embracing this fact without shame.

All he wanted at this point was for Tom to see this through to its conclusion. The idea of walking out without coming, without Tom's touch on his cock or his sweet, venomous words murmured in Harry's ear, made him want to snarl. It made him want to sob.

_ It made him want to beg. _

"I think I need to take these off," Tom purred. It took a moment for Harry to focus over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

"What?" Harry gasped, emerald eyes staring dizzily up into Tom's smirking face.

"I can't reach all of you like this," Tom explained, letting his lashes drop to veil his eyes with a false demureness. He hooked a thumb under the elastic band of Harry’s pants and snapped it against his flat stomach, making Harry jump. The fabric teased the sensitive head of his prick and Harry’s breathing stuttered. Tom watched the muscles flex with a coy little smile, dark amusement threaded through his saccharine tones. “How can I treat what I can’t touch?”

"Erm," Harry whimpered articulately as Tom waited for his answer ( _ what would he do if Harry said no _ ?) It was a struggle to speak through the distraction of Tom's fingers making shivery little circles on his hip bone. "Yes," Harry said at last, " _ Yes _ . Take what you need."

Tom laughed quietly. "I am," he assured Harry, bright red eyes flashing as he grinned. "I always do. Lift your hips for me darling, just like that, yes—" Clever fingers guided Harry back to rest his weight on his elbows, encouraging him to thrust his hips into the air obscenely as Tom slid his boxers down and off his hips. As the coarse fabric of the waistband tugged briefly on his throbbing erection, Harry let out a wordless, ragged cry. He had been teased and stroked inside and out by Tom's hands and magic, but  _ that _ part of him had been left sorely neglected and even a tiny bit of friction was almost too much. Harry clenched his eyes shut and tightened his abdomen, reflexively fighting the urge to cum. As his reddened cock sprang free to slap wetly against his stomach, Harry fell back to the table with a groan.

"Tom," Harry begged, fingers scraping against the leather of the massage table as Tom pulled his underwear off and tossed it to one side. "Tom, _I need—_ " He didn’t know exactly what he was asking for. _More_. Harry couldn't move the way he wanted to, couldn't make his heavy, boneless body stir to his will. He was bound to the earth in a tangle of vines, jasmine and rosemary, musk and clean sweat. Tom’s hip was scorching where it pressed against Harry’s bare flank and Harry’s chest vibrated as he keened his frustration. _This was_ _maddening_.

"Shhh," Tom soothed, tugging a hand through Harry's sweaty, tangled curls in a disingenuously comforting gesture. "We'll get there. There's a reason this is called the Sylvan Package, after all." At Harry's uncomprehending stare, Tom sighed, sounding annoyed. He stroked the back of his fingers down Harry's cheek. "It deals with wood, darling? Nevermind, by the time we reach this point no one ever gets the joke." As he pulled his hand back, Harry’s magic went with it. Tom eyed the honey-colored glow that clung to his fingers and, with a shrug,  _ licked them clean _ .

The sound Harry made in response defied description. He was unable to look away from the sight of that pink tongue licking obscenely along Tom's long fingers and—  _ oh _ . He could feel it, a  _ tug _ on his very core as small strands of Harry’s magic were unraveled and  _ consumed _ . It left Harry weak and mewling, shaking against the leather of the couch as his cock pulsed weakly and dribbled precum to mix with the oil that slicked his navel. A voice in the back of his mind was screaming, but all Harry could think about was the  _ pleasure _ . It was like Tom was licking along the heart of him, sucking and nibbling at the very center of his being. Harry didn't care, couldn't care, what that meant as long as  _ Tom didn't stop _ .

Tom made a quietly surprised sound, then slid his fingers into his mouth and  _ sucked _ , cheeks hollowing. Harry whimpered, unable to look away from the erotic sight. His prick twitched needily with every pull. When Tom slid them from his pursed red lips with an extravagant pop, shiny and wet, Harry managed to clumsily lift his hand and reach out towards Tom’s mouth with mindless desire.

Tom caught him before he could make contact and chuckled. "No, Harry. Although—" and Tom eyed the magic that rolled and pulsed slowly along the surface of Harry's skin with predatory interest "— I have to say, you taste  _ delicious _ ." Tom stroked his thumb along the delicate bones of Harry's wrist and pressed a whisper of a kiss to Harry’s palm. "You're a treasure, darling. Now, let's see what we can do about this last nasty scar, mhm?"

Tom tilted Harry’s arm as he pulled it straight to examine the faded scar left by the runespoor. The golden light of Harry’s magic was subtly different there, dappled with sparks of silver and ribbons of bright white. To Harry’s eyes it seemed less of a blemish and more of a part of him, like his magic had grown around the intrusion and embraced it. The pale light wove through the honey glow of his power until it was impossible to tell where the silver ended and the gold began. Tom twirled his yew wand in his free hand thoughtfully as he looked at it, a surprisingly human gesture.  _ When did I stop thinking of him as human? _ Harry wondered, shivering.

With a particularly cruel yank, Tom held Harry’s arm taut as he placed the tip of his wand against the scar. The gesture rocked Harry against him and he moaned as his needy cock ground against the well-muscled curve of Tom’s ass. Harry thrust his hips minutely, dragging the drooling head of his prick across the thin fabric of Tom’s pants.  _ Blessed friction _ .

“Stop that,” Tom snapped absently, as if Harry was a disobedient pet. He shifted his weight and pinned Harry’s hip with an elbow without releasing his grip on Harry’s wrist. Harry whined his displeasure, but he didn’t have the strength to fight the hold. Pressing the tip of his wand firmly against the dimpled scar, Tom hissed quietly under his breath. He traced a circle and it glowed a soft lavender, but nothing else seemed to happen. Tom frowned.

He cast the spell a second time.

Nothing happened. In fact, as Harry looked at his arm through bleary eyes, the magic there wasn’t reacting to Tom’s touch at all. It didn’t drift away from his body or cling to Tom’s wand the way the rest of his aura had. The loose, floating cloud of power that shimmered and undulated over him was still sheathed tightly against his skin, stitched to his bones with silver thread.

Tom shifted his grip on his wand and tilted his head to one side, pursing his lips. He looked like he thought the scar’s refusal to budge was a personal offense. As he placed the tip of his wand back on the faded puncture wound and began to cast once more there was a sudden, startlingly intrusive chime at the door. Tom's head whipped around with a hiss more reminiscent of a beast than a man and his grip on Harry's wrist tightened until it hurt. Harry’s bones creaked as they were ground together and he moaned, the pain bleeding into pleasure in a dizzying way.

"What part of not to be disturbed—" Tom snarled. He glowered at the opaque, milky shield of the door as if he could see straight through it by force of will alone. After a moment he huffed a breath and released Harry's wrist from its bruising grip. His wand vanished from his free hand with a twist of his wrist and he turned back towards Harry, looming over him with a smile that bordered on cruel. He ran his hand through Harry’s tangled black curls again, blunt nails scraping against his scalp and sending a frisson of pleasure through his lax body. Harry pressed up against the caress without shame, hungry for the contact.

Tom smirked, tightening his grip in the soft curls at the base of Harry’s skull. He forced Harry to tilt his head to one side, leaning close. Harry could feel Tom’s breath puff against his cheek, hot and humid as his red lips hovered next to Harry’s ear.

"I'm afraid I need to take this call, darling." The throaty rumble of Tom's voice made Harry quiver and reach out. His hands fisted in the loose fabric of Tom's shirt in a silent plea and Tom laughed, a rolling, liquid sound that rang through Harry's body like a bell. "None of that now," Tom scolded in an amused tone as he untangled Harry's hands from his clothes. "I'll be back soon to finish this, I promise."

Tom pressed against Harry, lips skating over the delicate curl of his ear as his hand traced the line of his hip. He stopped just short of where Harry's cock throbbed, pinned between their bodies, to rub idle circles into the tender flesh below his navel. "You'll be good while I'm gone, won't you, Harry?"

Harry tried to roll his head away, but only succeeded in making Tom tighten his grip on his hair. Good.  _ Would he be good?  _ He wanted to say yes, wanted to agree if only to keep Tom’s hands on him, but…  _ Good. _ Harry’s lip curled. A rebellious spark blossomed in his chest, burning bright through the fog of overwhelming sensation and need. 

“No,” Harry snarled, gripping that tiny defiant light tightly. He didn’t sound very convincing with his voice so hoarse and broken, but it was all he had. As Tom’s eyes widened with evident delight, Harry wondered what he saw when he looked at Harry. He felt  _ wrecked _ . His body was slick with oil and sweat and flushed with arousal, sprawled across the padded leather table like an offering to some ancient hedonistic god. Harry’s cock was hard and dripping and he couldn’t stop the subtle roll of his hips as he chased friction with unconscious desperation. The room swam around him, blurry and out of focus, and the thick, rosemary-scented steam clouded his head. Still, despite it all, something in him snapped at the idea of coming to heel like a gods-damned  _ dog _ . It struggled sluggishly against the sweet-scented lure of the trap Harry had found himself caught in.

“‘No,’” Tom repeated, smiling slow and cruel, “Oh darling, that’s a shame. If you won’t be good for me on your own, then I guess I’ll just have to help motivate you,” Tom crooned, untangling his long limbs from the fetal curl of Harry's limp form. He eased Harry back towards the center of the massage table, arranging him to his satisfaction as if Harry was just some sort of overly large doll. Every time Harry tried to struggle Tom’s clever hands would trace across his body, stroking boldly wherever they wished, and Harry would lose focus. All it took was a light tweak of a nipple and Harry found himself moaning like a wanton whore. 

As Tom spread a hand in the center of Harry’s chest, pinning him in place, Harry fought to control his panting. Little needy sounds kept catching in the back of his throat and when Tom dug his nails into his sensitive skin hard enough to sting, Harry hissed at him.

“Feisty,” Tom said with admiration, eyes gleaming fever bright. “Harry, I don’t know why you’re struggling. I’m trying to help.” He tapped his wand against his lips, feigning a thoughtful mien. “Maybe you’re having a bad reaction with one of the potions?” Tom suggested coyly. He looked down at Harry through the dark veil of his lashes, clearly entertained by the game he was playing. 

Harry curled his lip in a sneer in reply.  _ Bastard _ , he thought, pushing the thought to the front of his mind and making no effort to veil it.

Tom laughed, but the tip of his wand jabbed into the tender flesh of Harry’s throat hard enough to bruise. “Careful,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, I have to step outside for a moment. I don’t have time to explain things to you right now, but I’m sure when I come back I can change your mind.” The flash of his grin was filled with a feral, unholy glee. “You’ll see things my way soon enough.”

He leaned forward, increasing the pressure on Harry’s throat until his eyes began to well with unwilling tears. “For now, I don’t want you running off and hurting yourself in your… confused state,” Tom continued smoothly. “ _ The Spa _ has a reputation to uphold, after all.  _ Ophiolaqueus!”  _ He cast, pulling his wand back in a smooth and practiced motion. A pale white ribbon unfurled from the tip, dropping to land on Harry’s chest with a heavy thud. It  _ writhed _ against his skin and Harry yelped as he felt the cool, scaled weight of it loop around his neck several times. He could hear a small voice hissing disjointedly in his ear and Harry bolted upright, heart fluttering with primal fear as adrenaline surged through him.

Immediately, the coils tightened and he began to choke.

Before he had time to do more than start to panic, Tom pushed him back down to the table. When the back of his head made contact with the leather the living collar went slack and Harry could suck in a deep breath once more. He made an abortive grab for the snake, but managed to stop himself before he could close his hand around it.  _ Stop. Think _ . Reacting thoughtlessly was likely to end up with him choking helplessly again. He schooled his face to stillness as he stared up at Tom, breathing hard and waiting for what came next.

Harry twitched as Tom stroked a hand through his hair in a gesture that almost bordered on affectionate. “Good boy,” he praised, looking pleased. Harry pushed back against the warm hand even as he hated himself for it. When Tom touched him it was like he lost all control. "I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere." Tom drawled mockingly, the sound of his footsteps quiet as he walked away.

There was the soft, muted chime of the door opening and then the stuttering, cringing voice of an unknown man saying, "M-my Lord," before the door fell shut behind them with another chime. Harry was alone.

Harry stared at the stone ceiling, marshaling his thoughts. Waves of euphoria rolled through his body in honey-slow ripples, a siren song of lust and the promise of pleasure. There was fire in his bones and his prick  _ throbbed _ in time with his heartbeat, but without Tom’s hands to whip him to a fever pitch Harry could dredge up a semblance of sanity. The snake on his neck shifted minutely as his breathing slowed, her scales sliding with a subtle rasp as she settled. She continued to whisper in his ear softly, but Harry ignored that for the moment.

_ At least, _ Harry thought grimly,  _ that had been informative. _ Whatever else was going on, some things had become clear. Harry’s suspicion had been correct. Tom was a legilmencer; he had responded to Harry’s nonverbal taunt immediately. Harry hadn’t even felt him slip into his mind. While his occlumency wasn’t great, he had Auror training and was good enough to detect most intrusions. Tom was clearly a master of the art. Put in that context his heavy hints about Harry  _ changing his mind _ took on a deeply ominous note.

On top of that, Bellatrix had sent him here  _ on purpose,  _ she had booked this specific package for him. She must have known… what, exactly? Tom had implied that other people had already been through this process, or at least a similar one. Harry swallowed thickly. How many people had walked into this place and walked out changed in ways they couldn’t see?  _ Merlin _ , considering the crowd  _ The Spa _ catered to, how many of them had been powerful, influential people? And why had the man outside the door called Tom, ‘My Lord?’

This wasn’t about humiliation. Harry didn’t know what game Tom was playing exactly, but it was clear— the coils around his neck tightened and Harry choked. His hand dropped away from his cock and Harry realized that he had begun to unconsciously toy with his swollen length while he thought. As soon as he released it his collar had relaxed; Tom had obviously left her with more instructions than were at first apparent.

Harry balled his hands up into fists and blushed to the roots of his hair. He hadn’t meant to start stroking himself, but the heat in his blood wasn’t banished, only muted without Tom in the room to feed it. Harry could hear him talking outside of the room, the low rumble of his words blurred into a vague rise and fall of sound by the shield between them.  _ Tom won’t be gone long, _ he thought, one hand drifting up to trace across his collarbone centimeters away from the living collar that adorned his neck.

Harry shivered spasmodically at his own touch; his skin was so  _ sensitive _ . He remembered how it had felt to have Tom whisper in his ear, sweet and venomous, and whined low in his throat. When he focused, he could feel a hint of that warm, velvety magic in the conjured snake that bound him, just enough to  _ tease _ and remind him of the way power had flared between them. The ghostly imprint of those long fingers traced their way across his body, drawing imagined trails of heat that left Harry aflame in their wake. Harry shook his head from side to side, fighting the sensual lure of the memories.

If Tom returned before he could find a way to escape, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together. Like an addict on the verge of a relapse, Harry knew that the next time Tom touched him his resistance would collapse, even with the fear of what was coming to drive him forward. 

He had to get out of here.

Harry tilted his head and  _ listened _ . The bone-white snake that was looped around his neck was hissing softly to herself, a litany of orders on a ceaseless loop. : _ Bind,: _ she hissed, the flicker of her tongue tickling Harry’s ear. : _ Hold. Keep still, keep quiet. Wait for the Master’s return,: _ She undulated slowly, coils tightening and releasing in a subtle rhythm. : _ Don’t move, don’t touch. Bind. _ :

Harry closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the image of a snake in his mind. With the Parseltongue whispers in his ear it was easy to slip into that mindset despite his lack of practice. : _ Release,: _ he suggested after a moment, his raspy voice taking on the hissing quality that he knew meant success. : _ Set free. Stay still, stay quiet, wait here for the M— for His return while I go.: _

The cool, scaled rope of her body flexed in surprise, tight enough to briefly choke him. : _A new_ _Speaker?:_ Harry felt his heartbeat speed up again as the coils around his neck shifted. His eyes opened to find a blurry triangular head hovering before him, centimeters from his face. She yawned, flashing fangs in a gesture that might have been surprise or might just have been a threat. : _Not_ ** _my_** _speaker,:_ she said petulantly after a momentary inspection.

: _ No,:  _ Harry agreed cautiously. Tom was a Speaker? Harry tucked that fact away for future consideration. He hadn’t thought there were any other living Parselmouths around. : _ But all Speakers belong to all snakes, do we not? I could be your Speaker. Release me and maybe I can help you.: _

Ruby eyes blinked slowly. It took the snake long enough to reply that Harry was beginning to consider making a grab for the back of her head and hoping for the best. : _ All Speakers belong to me,:  _ she agreed at last, apparently having had to take some time to think that through. : _ You can be my Speaker, but I will not release you. He told me to Bind and Hold and I must obey.:  _ Her coils shifted restlessly around his neck, putting uncomfortable pressure on his windpipe. : _ His magic compels me. What sort of help?:  _ She added, flicking a curious tongue against Harry’s nose.

Harry drew a blank. What did snakes want? He didn’t have time to negotiate. He needed to reach his wand before Tom came back. : _ Mice,:  _ he suggested blankly. : _ Warm rocks. Sun and shade and a meadow to hunt in? I can get these things for you. Besides,:  _ Harry added in a fit of inspiration. : _ The other Speaker told you to Bind and Hold. Did he tell you to Bind and Hold  _ **_me_ ** _?: _

Her tongue flickered again, tasting the air. : _ The Master said Bind and Hold. He didn’t specify you,: _ she agreed. Harry felt a spike of triumph flare in his chest. : _ How many mice?:  _ She asked slyly, tilting her head. : _ I am very hungry.: _

: _ As many as you want,:  _ Harry said without hesitation. : _ Release me and I will give you something else to Bind and Hold instead and we can leave, I will find you a meadow and—: _

: _ I thought I told you to be good, _ : Tom's voice was suddenly in his ear, low and throbbing with tension. Harry jerked up, choking on a moan as one long-fingered hand pressed against his chest and pinned him in place. He hadn't heard the chime of the door or the sound of Tom's approach. Tom loomed into sight over him, a dark silhouette backlit by the golden afternoon light. Harry flinched away from the avid look in his eyes.  _ Too late, too late, _ chanted a voice in the back of his mind.

: _ Trying to woo away the help, Harry?:  _ Tom crooned. : _ Who knew you were hiding such Slytherin depths.:  _ Gone was the control, the distance that had left Harry alone in the desire that hummed its way through his bones. Tom's voice was hungry and hot as he settled his weight on the bench besides him. Harry tried to lean away, but the hand on his chest prevented him from moving. : _ Honestly, Harry, I’m hurt,:  _ Tom continued, swaying closer. 

Harry swallowed, unable to look away. “Tom—” he began hoarsely, not even sure what he was going to say next. Tom didn’t give him the chance to find out. He surged forward like a striking snake, his hand closing around Harry’s throat even as the imprisoning serpent hissed her displeasure and  _ popped _ like a soap bubble, vanished from existence as easily as she had been called into it. Harry’s head slammed back against the leather hard enough to bounce as Tom made a bestial sound of rage.

: _ No, _ : Tom snarled. : _ If you’re going to speak, then  _ **_Speak_ ** _.:  _ Harry’s mouth opened to reply and with a deep, guttural groan, Tom leaned in and began to kiss him. He licked his way in like a brazen conqueror, tangling their tongues in a slick, filthy dance that had Harry kissing back before he knew it. There was nothing soft about this exchange; the way they crashed together was all sharp teeth and wet hunger. One of them was bleeding; Harry didn’t know which one of them it was. He gave as good as he got, nipping and licking at Tom’s plush lips with equal fervor as they shared the taste of copper shared between them. 

: _ Look at the way you move for me, so desperate for it _ ,: Tom murmured, pressing the words against Harry’s mouth in between kisses. His fingers were tangled in Harry’s messy hair and Tom yanked, forcing his head back. He began to nip greedily along Harry’s stubbled jaw, humming his pleasure as Harry gasped at the attention. His free hand slid lower, cupping Harry's ass and kneading the muscle greedily. : _ You want this, don’t you darling?: _

: _Fuck you,:_ Harry spat. Tom bit at the column of his neck hard enough to bruise and the hand on his ass yanked Harry up, pressing their bodies tightly together and dragging Harry’s swollen cock against the crease of his hip. Harry shouted and clawed a hand down Tom’s back, pushing back into his possessive touch as much as the languorous haze that held Harry in its grip would allow. Stringing sentences together was becoming difficult. The edges of his mind were curling into ash, scorched by the heat that flared between them. : _Yes, damn you,_ : Harry cursed. For some reason he found himself blinking away tears. : _I want this.:_

Tom released Harry’s throat with a chuckle, laving the marked skin with his tongue and making Harry groan before pulling back. He rolled Harry over on his stomach and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. 

: _ Honest at last,:  _ Tom purred, sliding up behind Harry to kneel on the couch. : _ But such a filthy mouth, darling. I’ll have to find a way to put it to better use.: _ He pressed a wet kiss to the small of Harry’s back, sliding his hands up the outside of Harry’s thighs reverently. : _ Another time, perhaps. I want to have you first. I should have known there was something special about you,: _ Tom whispered against Harry’s skin, the humid puff of his breath making Harry shiver. : _ The way you stood against my magic was so beautiful.: _

The grip on his thighs tightened and Harry let out a yelp as Tom dragged him back, his hands scrabbling for purchase. His legs were forced apart, splaying wide to either side of Tom’s hips, and Harry ended up propped across strong thighs, every bit of him on display to Tom’s ravenous gaze. His swollen cock dangled, the wet tip resting on the slick leather and his balls were drawn tight to his body. When strong hands gripped the firm mounds of Harry’s ass and parted them to reveal the pink pucker of his hole, Harry cried out. A part of him still hated this, hated Tom, but he was on  _ fire _ beneath those crimson eyes, completely exposed and vulnerable.

There was the soft pop of a cork being removed, then a ribbon of cool oil sluiced across Harry's ass. It puddled in the dip of his lower back and ran thickly down his balls. The increasingly familiar scent of jasmine filled the air. It was cloying and too thick where it caught in Harry's throat. His head swam dizzily as his dripping cock throbbed in time with his rapid heartbeat. Every inch of his skin the oil touched felt hot, flushed with blood and sensitized to the point of near pain.

As Harry rocked his hips back and whimpered, trapped by Tom's steady hands, he distantly wondered if there would come a point where he'd simply combust. Desire had hollowed him out, burnt up every scrap of thought that did not revolve around Tom, Tom's mouth and hands and  _ cock _ . The scraps of clarity he had managed to claw out of the haze were scattered to the winds, torn apart by the whirlwind of sensation.

Harry twitched helplessly as Tom's hand swept through the pool of viscous oil on his back, smearing it across Harry's skin as he began to trace the cleft of his ass. When Tom's thumb dragged across Harry's rim, he let out a broken moan. 

: _ Fuck yes _ ,: he swore drunkenly, : _ Tom, Tom. _ : Harry couldn't tell if he was speaking in English or Parseltongue anymore, it was all blurring together. Sprawled as he was across Tom's lap, he couldn't find the leverage to push back into the touch the way he wanted to. Harry’s limbs were heavy and uncoordinated, but he managed to roll his hips back hungrily in a silent plea for  _ more _ . 

Tom huffed a laugh. He repeated the motion with deliberation, pressing firmly against the ridged flesh of Harry’s sphincter with his thumb. It fluttered under his touch, hungry for more. : _ Look at you, so good for me, _ : Tom murmured huskily. Over his shoulder Harry could see his red eyes glow as he watched the digit sink into Harry's softened, oil-slicked arsehole. : _ I wonder how much you can take _ .:

Harry sobbed, collapsing forward until his face was buried against the warm, damp skin of his arms. He was grateful for the tangled hair that fell in a curtain to hide his expression as he ground back against Tom’s teasing fingers. Harry didn’t have the strength to take what he wanted, so he fought to dredge up the words he needed. : _ Everything, _ : he answered, throat raw and tight. : _ Anything, Tom. Give it to me. _ :

Tom hummed, thoughtful and low. His thumb traced circles around Harry's fluttering opening, teasing and caressing the needy flesh with no particular sense of urgency. He drew a line of oil down the suede-soft skin of Harry's perineum, then began to gently tug and fondle his balls. Harry arched his back and keened. Tom's touch was light, almost playful, but Harry was long past the point where that was enough. He needed to  _ come _ . He had been hard for longer than he could ever remember being before in his life. Every time the blunt head of his dick slipped against the leather of the couch, Harry let out a needy little bleat. : _ Tom _ ,: he chanted, reduced to begging at last. : _ Tom, Tom, Tom.  _ **_Please_ ** _. _ :

Tom smiled, feral and delighted by every broken word of surrender. : _ If you insist _ ,: he purred. : _ I'd never deny you, my dear. _ :

He didn't hesitate as he sunk two slick fingers inside Harry, sliding down to the second knuckle before Harry could even think to yelp at the pain. It burned, but when Tom hooked his fingers and dragged them down Harry's sensitive walls, Harry could do little but shudder and pant. Every twist left him shaking, desperate for more, and when Tom scissored his fingers, stretching Harry's ring wide, the pain was lost in the bliss of finally having Tom inside him. It didn't take long before Tom had his fingers buried completely in Harry's eager flesh, fucking him for all he was worth. Harry moaned and sobbed, little bits of garbled Parseltongue falling from his mouth with every stroke.

Harry's nipples were hard enough to cut glass as he rocked against the couch and molten pleasure was pooling thickly at the base of his dick. His balls were drawn tight against his body and Harry was so close to coming it was beginning to hurt. He had almost enough, he just needed— : _ More _ ,: Harry sobbed, thrusting back into every stroke. : _ More, touch me more. _ :

When Tom crooked his fingers just right, Harry saw stars. When the pads of Tom’s fingers hit that sensitive bundle of nerves, the white-hot pleasure made the edges of his vision go white, but still—  _ still _ — it wasn't enough. Harry couldn't come. Harry had gone beyond words, beyond anything more than simple, animalistic grunts and sobs as tears trickled down his face. No matter how he writhed, hooked like a fish on Tom's clever fingers, he couldn't quite topple over the edge.

Then Tom's other hand slid down to wrap around Harry's cock. He cradled it gently, hefting it in his palm as if to test the weight of it and squeezing softly. Tom tapped along the swollen length and curiously traced the vein on the underside with his fingertips. For one long, stricken moment, Harry thought Tom was teasing him again. He cried out a harsh, wordless plea, bucking in Tom’s lap as he desperately sought the friction he needed. At last,  _ at long last _ , Tom's fingers gripped Harry's dick firmly and  _ pulled _ , stroking slick and hot down the length of Harry's shaft with just the right amount of pressure.

It didn't take much. Once, twice, then on the third stroke, a swirled thumb over the head and Harry was coming. He sobbed Tom's name over and over as he shook apart, spilling into the warmth of Tom's palm as his spasming hole clamped down hard on the long, pale fingers buried to the hilt inside him. Tom fucked Harry through his climax, milking his prostate until Harry's toes curled and his eyes rolled back in his head. His vision went white as he lost his senses entirely for an indeterminable time.

Harry drifted through the aftermath of his shatteringly intense orgasm, head empty and peaceful. His body twitched spasmodically, wracked by pleasurable aftershocks. Distantly, he could hear someone making broken little noises and after a long minute of contemplation, Harry realized it was him. When the room slowly began to swim back into blurry focus, Harry could hear Tom murmuring quietly to him. His warm hands held Harry's hips in place as he shivered and shook through the wreckage of his pleasure.

_ :I've got you, darling. I've got you. You were so good for me. You came so beautifully on my fingers, opened yourself up and begged me for more like you were made for this, _ : Tom whispered huskily. His low voice dragged across Harry’s senses like rough silk.

Tom was leaning forward, draped along Harry's back like a living blanket. He lipped the words against the soft skin between his shoulder blades, making Harry shiver. Tom’s smooth chest was bare; at some point, the loose cotton shirt had been vanished without Harry noticing. He radiated heat like a furnace, a warmth that soaked into Harry’s bones and left him feeling strangely safe and sheltered. Every place their skin touched, Tom’s magic rolled languidly, purring satisfaction as it tangled with Harry’s golden power until their edges began to blur.  _ It feels so good; it has no right to feel this good. _ Harry hiccoughed a sob and buried his face deeper into his folded arms, cheeks wet with tears. 

: _ Shh _ ,: Tom soothed, rubbing his index fingers in lazy, sensual circles in the hollows of Harry's hip bones. : _ You did so well, Harry. _ :

The moment hung, heavy and listless, as clouds of steam drifted through the artificial afternoon light. The soft sizzle and pop of the brazier was loud in Harry's ears, the whisper of falling water a balm as Tom breathed steadily against him. Every now and again, Harry would whimper. The rough, helpless sounds were drawn out of him as taut internal muscles began to unclench, each post-coital spasm drawing an echo of pleasure from deep inside. 

The thick golden glow of Harry’s magic rolled in steady waves across his skin, surging and falling in rhythm with his breathing. He watched it through damp, tear-stained lashes. The absurd urge to giggle bubbled up in his chest and Harry didn’t bother to hold back his brittle laugh.  _ I’m glowing like a gods damned firefly,  _ he thought irreverently, lips curving in a faint smile.

The sound of Harry's voice broke the spell they had both been under. The weight on his back vanished as Tom pulled away and Harry found himself missing his comforting warmth. The places Tom had been draped across were cold despite the humid heat of the room. Settling back on his heels, Tom slid his hands along the sides of Harry’s ribcage and made a quietly pleased sound. He lifted Harry’s torpid body and nestled him in his lap, arranging Harry’s legs in front of them in an artless sprawl.

Harry let himself be moved, relaxed and complacent. His body was loose-jointed and heavy with satiation. The heat of Tom’s chest against his back was soothing and Harry let his eyes drift closed again, luxuriating in the moment. The way Tom was reverently touching him made Harry feel cherished. On some level, Harry knew that this was only an interlude, that soon those soft touches would turn demanding and Tom's gorgeous face would shift thin and cruel again. Right now, wrapped in his afterglow and the cedar and woodsmoke scent of Tom's body, he couldn't make himself care.

Tom's arms closed around him, sheltering Harry in the cradle of his body with soft, wordless hisses. Harry's head slumped forward, too heavy to hold upright. His eyelashes fluttered as he felt lips graze the nape of his neck, delicate and gentle with just a scrape of teeth like a promise of more to come. They rocked together for a time. Tom seemed content to trace lazy patterns across Harry's cooling skin. 

When his hands roamed down Harry's chest, Tom idly tweaked a nipple in passing, more curious than lustful. Harry made a quiet noise and flexed weakly against Tom’s arms. The wandering hands paused. Tom watched Harry shiver, then did it again, rolling the pebbled nub between his fingers and steadily observing the side of Harry's face as he grimaced, caught somewhere between pleasure and painful overstimulation. The muscles in Harry's abdomen clenched and fluttered, leaving him keenly aware of how open and empty he was without Tom's fingers inside him.

: _ Let's take a better look at you, darling _ ,: Tom crooned, gripping Harry's lightly stubbled jaw with a wet hand and tilting his head back to loll bonelessly against his bare shoulder. He stroked his fingers across the plane of Harry’s cheek, crimson eyes lingering on Harry’s abused mouth. It had flushed bright red from the way Harry had been chewing on it earlier. Pinned beneath that heavy gaze, Harry's breathing began to pick up. 

: _ Oh Harry, you're a wreck, aren't you? _ : Tom murmured, sounding amused. He shifted his grip and dragged his thumb across Harry's mouth, leaving his lips glossed with a mix of jasmine-scented oil and Harry's own seed. Reflexively, Harry's pink tongue darted out to taste the bitter fluid. Tom's hooded eyes slid shut with a quiver at the sight, dark lashes impossibly long against his pale cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, they burned fire-bright with desire. Without looking away, he rocked his hips forward as he pulled Harry down and ground against him.

Harry’s eyes widened in sudden shock as Tom’s swollen cock pushed against the swell of his ass. It was hot and hard through the thin layer of damp fabric that separated them. As Tom pressed their hips flush against each other, Harry felt the curved weight of it slide along his cleft and this time he wasn't the only one who shivered. Tom's expression went languid with pleasure, eyes heavy-lidded and hot. He thrust against Harry again, dragging his clothed cock over Harry's sensitized flesh with hungry deliberation. The head caught briefly on Harry's swollen, puffy rim and he inhaled sharply, liquid emerald eyes widening as strained pleasure shot up his spine.  _ Too much _ . Tom hummed happily, the low note vibrating through both of their bodies.

: _ Lovely, _ : Tom sighed, watching Harry with all of the fascination of a child with a new toy. : _ You're so responsive to my touch. _ : His bright red eyes caught and kept Harry's gaze as he braced Harry with one hand, long white fingers curled spider-like across the gold-lit skin of Harry's shoulder. His free hand trailed lower, teasing Harry's softened cock with a light touch and making him jolt. Harry clenched his jaw and swallowed down an unhappy whine, refusing to look away from Tom’s sweet, angelic smile. His challenging glare only made Tom’s grin widen.

Harry huffed a breath, flexing his hips and shivering as he struggled to get away. The cradle of Tom’s body had become a cage and despite Harry’s best efforts, he did little more than writhe helplessly in place. Tom continued to toy with his half-hard prick, soaking in every stuttered gasp and flinch with unveiled hunger and every evidence of enjoyment. The firm press of his swollen cock throbbed obscenely between them.

When Tom grunted softly in his ear, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulder at a particularly satisfying drag of his ass across Tom's prick, Harry realized with a dawning sense of horror that the fire in his body he had thought extinguished was only banked. Even though Tom's touch was  _ too much, too soon _ , Harry could feel his dick twitch at the attention and struggle to harden. Tom's low vocalizations and the feel of him nestled against Harry's opening merely fanned the flames. 

Only the thin, clinging fabric of Tom's pants kept them apart, kept Tom from simply  _ forcing _ his way inside him. Harry licked his lips involuntarily at the thought and his cock gave another jerk of interest in Tom's hand. The scent of sex and jasmine was still thick in the air, heavy on his lips, and Harry could feel the first hot brush of the mind-consuming need he had drowned in earlier rising up to meet him. As Harry's expressive features cycled through his conflicting thoughts, he could feel Tom watching him. He felt transparent under that avid, probing gaze.  _ I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I shouldn’t  _ **_want_ ** _ this. _

: _ Look at what I've done to you, _ : Tom whispered, gaze hot and possessive as it traced the drying tear tracks on Harry's face. The hand on Harry’s cock slid lower and Harry groaned as Tom rolled his balls gently in the palm of his hand, tugging lightly on the sack. Merlin, the man’s hands could drive an angel to sin. : _ You make me want to do so much more. _ : 

Tom shifted his grip off Harry's shoulder, sliding his hand into the soft curls at Harry's nape. His fingers carded through the silken strands as his fingernails traced shivery lines along his scalp. Harry felt his eyes slide shut and he panted open-mouthed, overwhelmed by the hand in his hair and the hand on his prick. He was close to full hardness now and the painful sensitivity was beginning to slide back into pleasure. Harry wanted Tom to stop. He wanted Tom to never let go.

"I'm going to ruin you, Harry Potter." Tom murmured, the plain English harsh and blunt after an eternity of Parseltongue. His hand on Harry's rising cock stilled, fingers squeezing gently around the shaft as if he wanted to memorize the shape of it. Harry felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he listened, transfixed. "I'm going to brand myself into every inch of you, fill you up until you're dripping with it. I'm going to break you," Tom brushed a featherlight kiss across the knob of Harry's shoulder and tightened his grip in Harry's hair until it hurt. "Then I'm going to remake you."

Tom leaned in, eyes sliding shut as his nose grazed Harry's stubbled cheek. For a moment he hovered there as if to savor the salt-sweat-floral scent of Harry's skin, lit by the torpid golden glow of Harry's magic. The light rolled and billowed through the space between them, sparking strange, iridescent highlights from Tom's smooth flesh. This close, Harry could see there was something subtly  _ wrong _ about it. Tom’s skin was poreless and perfect, dappled with the faint outline of what Harry thought might have been impossibly tiny translucent scales. 

_ Monster _ , his mind whispered, clear as a bell. Adrenaline made Harry’s heart drum faster. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his side, digging painfully into the flesh of his own thighs as Harry wished with all his might for his wand. The ugliness of his promised fate unspooled in his mind,  _ remade _ ,  _ changed _ ,  _ altered. _ Propped upright as he was against Tom’s broad torso, he could see the delicate carved wooden divider and a sliver of the bench behind it. Harry swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against the loose press of Tom’s wrist. If he could summon his wand...

Harry tried to concentrate, fighting to gather his scattered magic. His body was still unnaturally heavy, weighed down by the thick, drugging steam and whatever was in that gods-cursed oil, but if he had his wand, maybe he could do something to change that, except— every time he reached for his power, it skittered away. The languid roll of magic across his skin became increasingly turbulent with each fumbled attempt. Where their skin touched, sparks flew.

Tom's eyes fluttered back open and Harry froze. Like a man who had found god for the first time, Tom looked rapturous, exalted to something more than mere flesh. Harry blinked away sudden tears, his breath catching in his throat despite the hint of sour fear that swirled through him. Tom was too gorgeous to be real. Sprawled against him, mussed and damp with sweat and oil, hard and covered in his own seed, Harry felt like a creature crudely formed of clay. Even as Tom's breath whispered across Harry's cheek and his hand resumed its gentle glide up and down Harry’s swollen shaft, Tom seemed distant; an impossible dream made flesh. A  _ nightmare _ .

: _ No _ ,: Harry whispered, every word a struggle. "No." His voice was rough and cracked. "Let me go, Tom. I'm not yours." He fought to remain focused. Tom's beauty was an assault on his senses and that _ damn hand curled around his prick _ just wouldn't let go. Harry pressed against the arm wrapped around his chest like an iron band. If he could just focus for a moment—! Tom's fingers tightened on his cock, making Harry gasp and fumble for his train of thought. He slid back into Parseltongue instinctively, the language dropping from his raw lips like his mother tongue. : _ I don't want this! _ :

"No," Tom repeated, looking positively delighted by Harry's continued resistance. : _ No? Darling, I don't think you know what you want. _ : He punctuated this statement with a twist of his wrist, fingers still wrapped deliciously around Harry's cock. Harry's hips gave a helpless little stutter as he tried to buck forward into that tight grip and Tom's replying chuckle rumbled through both of their chests. : _ See? You seem confused. You were begging me for more just moments ago. Let me help you remember, Harry. _ : He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Harry's forehead, then dragged his lips down his face until Tom could nuzzle against his cheek.

: _ I promise, you'll love it in the end, _ : Tom whispered, mouth tracing hotly across Harry's skin as he spoke.

Tom's plush red lips parted wide with a flash of sharp, white teeth and he closed the last few millimeters of distance between them in a sudden lunge that made Harry squeak. His teeth scraped across Harry's skin as his tongue laved his flesh, not quite a bite and not quite a kiss. Something pulled at Harry's core, hot and obscenely pleasurable, bowling through his laboriously ordered thoughts like a runaway abraxan. Harry's head snapped back with a sob, but Tom's tight grip on his hair kept them locked together. 

Harry moaned loudly, unable to keep his hips from rolling in helpless bliss as he ground down against Tom's dick. He watched through dazed, slitted eyes as Tom withdrew, shreds of golden light coating his lips, tongue and teeth. Tom rolled fire in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, sucking on it with hedonistic delight.

_ Tom had taken a bite of Harry's magic. _

It was  _ bliss _ . It was fire in his veins and a mouth on his cock and every nerve-ending alight in glory. It was the worst thing Harry had ever felt and if Tom stopped he might literally die of want for more. He watched, mouth yawning in a silent scream that he didn't have the breath to voice as Tom's jaw flexed, his throat worked and he  _ swallowed _ .

Harry convulsed like someone held under a  _ crucio _ . He might have cried out, but the only sound in his ears was static. The room tilted around him and he didn't realize that he was falling until he hit the leather surface of the table, crumpled in a heap face down as he drooled and twitched. He hadn’t even felt Tom’s arms let go. For a moment Harry swore he could hear two heartbeats, pulses pounding asynchronously in his ears but growing closer in rhythm by the second. Something pulled tight inside, a tangled line that wrapped around his heart-soul-magic-self. It parted with a snap that sent him reeling. His cock twitched against his thigh and the exquisite agony of it was  _ so good _ .

He might have come again. He might have just been close. He couldn't tell.

Harry was given no respite this time, no chance to pull his dissolving edges back inside the boundaries of his flesh. Rough hands turned him on his back seconds after he fell, and Tom was crouched over him, feral and backlit by the afternoon sunlight. Tom's chestnut hair had lost its perfect curl and was hanging in damp, loose waves around his face as he loomed over Harry. His mouth was stretched in a rictus grin, spattered with honey-colored light like fresh blood and he was beautiful,  _ gods _ , still beautiful even as something dark moved behind his flesh like a beast brushing against the curtain of humanity. Unearthly crimson eyes bore into Harry, kindled with a hellish inner light.

Tom braced his forearms on either side of Harry's face and swayed closer, his shining, gore-coated mouth pressing itself against the shell of Harry's ear. His knee pushed up between Harry's legs and he rocked forward, rough and demanding. : _ Say no, darling _ ,: Tom hissed, so low it was almost a growl. : _ Say no again and I'll stop, Harry _ .:

_ Stop _ ? Harry writhed, moaning feverishly as he ground against the welcome pressure of Tom’s leg. There was no  _ stopping _ this. He had nothing left in him with the strength to fight, the gathered dregs of his will demolished by the hammering need to  _ consume _ as he was consumed in turn. Tom was monstrous and Harry was lit from within by his lust for him, sanity burnt up and curled into ash. Tom had sucked down a fragment of his magic, licked his way into Harry's very soul with a pleasure so filthy it transcended flesh,  _ and he was expected to tell Tom to stop? _

_ No.  _

Harry’s entire body was quivering with the need to follow that stolen scrap of magic. His teeth ached with the need to bite Tom in turn, to tear into him and  _ take back _ what he had stolen only to demand he take it again. Harry wanted to unravel in the glorious heat of Tom’s mouth, to dissolve into sticky ribbons of pleasure that left no more room for doubt.  _ Harry wanted to drag Tom down with him. _

Even if this inevitable surrendering would be the death of him in every way that mattered. 

He prayed it would be the death of him for real. It was honestly the better of his two options.

Harry reached up to thread his fingers through Tom's hair in answer and yanked him down. He arched up to rub like a needy cat against the strong line of Tom's thigh, driven by an unendurable hunger to be closer, to be wrapped and swallowed whole by the heat of Tom's magic, the wet suck of his mouth and his roaming, clever hands. He shook when Tom responded to the unspoken invitation by licking the lobe of Harry's ear into his mouth, sharp teeth worrying the tender flesh.

: _ Don't stop _ ,: Harry snarled back, tightening his grip on Tom's soft locks, holding him in place. : _ Don't go. _ :

Tom released Harry's ear with a huff of satisfied laughter and immediately began to work his way down the column of Harry's neck, sucking and biting with a callous disregard for the marks he was leaving behind him. He sunk his teeth into the muscle at the base of Harry's neck hard enough to bruise, nearly drawing blood as Harry bucked and swore at the sensation. It was perfect, hard and hungry and painful in a grounding way that he needed after an eternity of gentle, teasing touches. 

When Tom pulled away at last, it was only to steal Harry's mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss. He licked the slick mess from Harry's lips, sucking and pulling on Harry's swollen lower lip until he cried out from it. The taste of jasmine and salt was shared between them, thick and bitter and erotic. Tom's mouth was demanding and Harry rose to meet it, tongues tangling and stroking together as their bodies rocked in a complimentary dance.

Tom's magic surged, rough velvet dragging everywhere their skin met, and Harry broke the kiss to sob his pleasure aloud as he dragged his nails across Tom's shoulders, red welts left in his wake. Suddenly the clothed leg that was pressing into him was bare, Tom's clinging trousers magically banished with a wordless, wandless spell as the shirt before them had been. Harry couldn't stop himself from stealing a glance down the line of their bodies even as his hips continued to roll needily against Tom's firm muscled thigh.

Tom's cock hung thick and proud, curving high to bob between them. The head was shiny and red, flushed the same color as Tom's plush lips with a blushing gradient that rose up the shaft to meet it. It was otherwise pale and close in color to the rest of Tom's skin, thickening in the middle and narrowing at the base. The foreskin had fully pulled back, ridging the smooth flesh around the tip, and as Harry watched the slit beaded with a clear drop of precome.

Harry's own dick was close in length to Tom's, but slimmer, of even thickness from head to base. It was flushed red, the head purpled and swollen, and it shone with a slick mixture of oil and his own ejaculate. Tom's thigh was wet and shiny where Harry had slid against him and he continued to leak copiously as they ground together. 

Tom thrust his leg forward again as he curled his spine and lowered his dark head to lip at Harry's collarbone, nipping and laving at Harry's salty skin as if he was planning to eat him alive. Harry let his head fall back and moaned.  _ Maybe _ , he thought with a giddy sort of fatalism,  _ Tom was. _ Harry didn't think he'd survive this, one way or another. He released his hold on Tom and rolled his arms back languorously, hands clasped above his head and spine arched as Tom's hot mouth found a sensitive nipple.

: _ Yesss, _ : Harry hissed, the muscles in his abdomen tightening as he flexed up, nipple caught in the moist, demanding chasm of Tom's mouth. : _ Like that, just like that. _ : Tom's tongue flicked across the sensitive nub, swirled slick and hot in lazy patterns around the flat areola. He sucked the sensitive flesh hard, gripping it between his teeth and biting just a little too firmly, making Harry jolt and hiss at the sweet agony of it. Tom's crimson eyes rolled up to meet Harry's gaze as he released the nipple with a wet pop, pupils blown dark and lustful.

He swapped to the other side of Harry's chest and repeated the process, never dropping his bold stare as he watched the reactions chase their way across Harry's mobile features. Something primitive in Harry preened wickedly at the attention and he bit his lip provocatively, silently urging Tom on. His hips kept up their steady roll as Harry chased his own pleasure, the delicious friction of skin on skin enough to make his eyes fog over with bliss.

When Tom released Harry's other nipple and pulled away, his smile was bright and hungry as he shifted his weight and slid his broad hands down Harry's ribcage to tightly grip the slight swell of his hips. Everywhere he touched, the drag of his magic made the golden glow that still sheathed Harry's skin ripple and pulse in response. It cast alternating highlights and shadows across Tom's hauntingly lovely features like the lazy refraction of sun-dappled water. He shifted his weight and Harry whined helplessly as the knee he was rocking against pulled away.

Tom pressed an apologetic kiss to the soft skin above Harry’s navel and they groaned in unison. He kissed the same spot a second time, then bit gently at the tender flesh. The scrape of his teeth tugged on Harry’s magic and he sobbed his response, but this time, Tom didn’t  _ take _ . He dallied, tasting Harry’s skin with a delicacy that did nothing to hide the promise of violence in his red eyes. It made Harry’s knees weak.

: _ I told you you’d love it, _ : he murmured wickedly as he sat up. The leather-clad couch shivered beneath them as Tom’s magic flared. The edges blurred as they spread out, turning the narrow bed into a larger platform. Harry tried to roll over in surprise, scrabbling for purchase as the previously solid bench wriggled disorientingly beneath him, but Tom's strong grip was enough to keep him pinned in place until the spell was finished. 

Harry swallowed, anticipation buzzing through his bones. Tom's wide smile had too many teeth. It was bright with predatory interest as he caught and kept Harry's gaze, one long-fingered hand sliding casually up to Harry's knee. With a light touch, he pushed and Harry let his legs fall open without resistance. He curled his fingers against the slick leather and rocked his hips, prick bobbing as he embraced the heat that licked through him and shamelessly begged for Tom's touch. 

Tom made a rough, hungry sound as his eyes tracked the swaying motion of Harry’s cock. Harry thrust his chin out, refusing to blush or duck his gaze in shame. Surrender had been torn from him, dragged slippery and hot in a blood-soaked mess to puddle at his feet like entrails, but he had the courage to embrace the end of him. He wouldn't look away. He’d demand every scrap of pleasure he had been promised, would rip it out of Tom if he had to.

: _ Lovely, _ : Tom repeated, red eyes flicking up to lock with green. He sounded pleased and possessive. : _ You are a prize beyond measure, Harry. _ : He trailed one hand down the inside of Harry's lightly-haired thigh and sighed happily at the sound Harry made in reply, glottal and thick where it caught in the back of his throat. 

: _ I've looked for other Parselmouths for so long, _ : Tom murmured, almost companionable despite the charged atmosphere between the two of them. : _ To think that I'd find you by chance… _ : His eyes flicked down the length of Harry's golden body again and his smile turned dark. : _ I suppose I should thank your father for being a thorn in my side and necessitating our little meeting in the first place. _ :

Harry flinched. 

"What?" He asked hoarsely.

"Your father? Obstinate, stubborn man. You take after each other, I suppose," Tom replied absently, taking the language change in stride this time. He slid his hand further up Harry's leg, brushing past the crease in his upper thigh to trail his fingers down the seam of Harry's perineum. "A Head Auror who refuses to be bought is a liability, my dear. He had to be dealt with one way or another. Either you'd have known something useful or—" Tom tore his gaze away from Harry's cock to meet his wide emerald eyes and grinned again. This time the expression had no warmth to it and Tom's flat gaze was cold and reptilian. "Well, we'd have come up with something, wouldn't we? Parents will do so many things, compromise so many  _ cherished values _ to keep their children safe, after all."

Harry didn’t reply. His mind was whirling. There was no sudden surge of adrenaline this time, no moment of unquestionable clarity as the world swam into focus. When Tom toyed with the swollen flesh of his rim, pleasure left him open mouthed and panting for more. Desire still drugged Harry, wrapped his body and mind in silken cords that bound him tight to the monster above him. He let Tom’s idle words roll off him like water, arching his back and crying out like a pretty little  _ whore _ on display for Tom’s amusement, but behind it all…

Harry  _ watched _ .

Watched Tom's hands return to petting Harry's soft skin as if he couldn't tire of the sensation, possessive and admiring. 

Watched his gaze rest on Harry's vulnerable sex, crimson eyes hot and eager as he burnt up with an intense desire that matched the one he had kindled in Harry's bones. 

Watched as he tested the texture of the tight skin of Harry's bollocks and swiped a finger across the slick head of his cock. 

Watched while he brought the pearl of precum to his mouth and _ sucked _ long and hard, chasing every bitter drop of Harry's essence as if he wanted to memorize the taste.

: _ And now? _ : Harry asked quietly, letting the Parseltongue drip off his lips like jasmine-scented oil, drugging and sweet. He watched Tom from beneath the veil of his lashes, his mind as still as a serpent despite a body that moaned, twitched and rolled beneath the hands of the monster who had tricked him here and trapped him. He didn’t miss the way Tom shivered at the sound.

Defenseless and prone, Harry felt strangely powerful; the arousal so plainly displayed by his naked body was a weapon in his hands, turned against the one who engendered it. For all of his cruel words and monstrous actions, Tom watched the twitch and roll of his hips like a starving man.  _ His eyes were so hungry, _ Harry thought, biting his lip _. _ Harry was queerly detached from the heat he could still feel coiling through him as he waited for Tom’s answer. He was balanced on the precipice of some impossible decision as he watched Tom tilt his head contemplatively to one side and consider his question.

: _ Yield for me, _ : Tom replied just as softly. : _ When I own you, what is yours will be mine and I— _ : His eyes flashed, fingers digging into the soft skin of Harry's inner thigh as his lip curled in a snarl. : _ — I protect what is  _ **_mine_ ** _ , Harry. _ :

The words ran through Harry like electricity, white-hot and crackling. He let his head fall back against the padded leather surface of the table and relaxed as his world reorientated itself on a new axis. He couldn't fight this.  _ He didn't want to _ . If Harry struggled against the current any longer he would be swept under and drowned by it. Harry closed his eyes. 

This was all he could control. 

: _ Yours _ ,: Harry yielded softly, the words a twisted promise that resonated in the air between them like a vow.

Harry  _ surrendered _ .

Harry  _ conquered _ .

Tom's bestial snarl was triumphant as he settled between Harry's thighs like coming home. : _ Mine, _ : Tom hissed. He rolled the word around in his mouth like he had the fragment of Harry's magic he'd devoured, tasting it from every angle. He dipped his head to press a kiss to Harry's inner thigh, open-mouthed and wet as he licked over the reddening marks left by his too-tight grip. Tom's teeth scraped against Harry's flesh and Harry  _ trembled _ , fingers curling into fists at his side.

: _ Mine _ ,: Tom purred, the throaty sound vibrating through Harry's body. He dug his nails into the curve of Harry's hip, red welts rising on dusky skin like a brand of ownership. He bent his mouth to suck new bruises into the crease of Harry's thigh, wavy chestnut hair brushing against the side of Harry's drooling cock in a teasing caress. Tom nuzzled into the hollow of Harry's hipbone. He inhaled sharply as if to memorize the dueling scents of jasmine and clean sweat. He bit and kissed his way down the sparse line of hair that tracked from Harry's belly button to the base of his dick, dragging his cheek across the side of Harry's throbbing cock and leaving a smear of glossy precum across one sharp cheekbone.

Tom pressed a kiss against the fuzzy skin of Harry's scrotum, the rush of hot, humid breath making the skin pebble and twitch. He sucked one ball briefly into his mouth as Harry shouted his pleasure, then released it with a pop and trailed lower, burying his face in the salt-sweet musk of Harry's intimate places. His hands spread Harry's legs even wider as his thumbs pulled the round globes apart to bare his hole. It winked and fluttered as it was revealed and Tom blew softly on it, watching the glossy, oil-slicked ring shiver and flex as the cool air hit it. Tom's fingers clenched, dimpling Harry's skin as they dug into his muscled ass hard enough to hurt. 

: _ Mine _ ,: he groaned, the weight of his eyes a tangible press as they drank the sight of Harry spread open before him.

: _ Yours _ ,: Harry moaned harshly, tilting his hips up in an unvoiced demand for Tom to  _ take _ . His skin felt flushed and hot. His heartbeat throbbed beneath his skin and pounded loudly in his ears. The leather table shifted subtly beneath Harry as he moved, assisting in his efforts as he propped himself up for easier access. He stroked down his own body, fingers scraping across sensitive skin and paused briefly to tug provocatively on his sore, bitten nipples before he dug his hands into Tom's soft chestnut hair and tugged, urging Tom closer.

Tom buried his face between Harry's legs without the need for further prompting. His tongue swirled across the puffy flesh of Harry's rim, pointed tip tracing patterns that made Harry twitch before swiping across the sensitive hole with the broad flat of the muscle. : _ Fuck,  _ **_Tom_ ** ,: Harry swore, fingers tightening as he tensed and quivered, flexing around the achingly empty core of him. Tom made an absolutely filthy sound as Harry fluttered underneath his tongue, the muffled vibrations of his low voice making Harry moan in turn. Tom licked in enthusiastically, the slick, previously-loosened flesh parting eagerly beneath his questing tongue.

Harry's curled in on himself with a short, stuttered gasp.  _ Merlin _ . Tom's tongue was long and flexible, plunging deep inside Harry's passage and wriggling in a way that had Harry's cock drooling precum like mad. As he drew back, Tom flattened his tongue and traced circles around the interior of the ring, making Harry's eyes roll back in his head. Strong hands pulled Harry's cheeks apart harder, allowing Tom better access. No one had ever eaten him out with such enthusiasm before. Tom drove in with a fast, slick rhythm that had Harry gasping and reaching for his own cock within moments. Close, Harry was close.

Before he could take himself in hand, Tom was there, his long fingers curling around Harry's wrist and slamming it back down to the bed. He tightened his grip for a brief moment in a silent command hard enough to make Harry's bones creak.  _ Don't touch _ . Throughout it all, Tom's tongue didn’t stop its thorough plundering. When Tom released his captured arm, Harry tossed it back up to cover his eyes as he whimpered, open-mouthed and overcome. His other hand remained buried in Tom's hair, clenching and unclenching reflexively. The wet sounds of Tom's mouth, paired with the soft, low growls of satisfaction Tom was letting leak out, were positively obscene.

Soon, a finger joined Tom's work inside Harry, then another in short order, stretching and scissoring as they stroked home in a steady rhythm. Tom kept the movements deliberately shallow, running close enough to Harry's prostate to make it pulse needily, but avoiding direct stimulation. It was driving Harry mad. He sobbed and tossed his head, the tendons in his neck corded tight and eyelids fluttering as he released Tom's hair to claw at the slick leather surface of the couch. He barely felt the burn as two fingers became three, fucking into Harry's sopping wet hole with a greedy verve that kept him distracted long enough to miss the withdrawal of Tom's mouth.

: _ Look at me, Harry, _ : Tom's voice was rough, his previously crisp pronunciation blurred and thick. The wrecked sound of him was enough incentive for Harry to obey, but the puff of hot breath on the glans of his swollen prick had him rocking up on his elbows in record time. Harry's hips continued rolling unabated into every thrust of Tom's fingers as he took in the tableau before him. 

The sight of Tom kneeling between his legs was devastating. His gorgeous features were pulled taut with lust and his plush mouth was swollen, slick and red from use. He was a debased work of art, smooth alabaster skin and lean muscle pulled straight from the marble statues of ancient Rome. The thick jut of his cock hanging heavy between his legs was an erotic enticement. Tom's shoulders rippled as his hand fucked Harry tirelessly and his once perfectly coiffed chestnut hair was a disheveled wreck from Harry's clawing fingers. As their gazes locked he let his lips curve in a cruel, sharp smile. His crimson irises were backlit, literally incandescent as if his magic was rising to match Harry’s honey glow.

Once he was sure he had Harry's full attention, Tom leaned forward and sucked the glans of Harry's cock into his mouth in one smooth action. His tongue dragged under Harry's retracted foreskin, swirling clockwise with a rough, skillful stroke across the sensitive underside. The fingers working Harry’s ass open thrust deeper at the same time, hitting Harry’s prostate and making him cry out. He rolled his hips, trying to sink down on Tom’s hand even as he tried to fuck into the wet heat surrounding his prick. Every time Tom pushed against the sensitive knot of nerves inside him, Harry could feel himself leak precum like a fountain. 

Harry’s eyes rolled back and his toes curled.  _ So good. _ Tom’s free hand rose to steady Harry’s prick, fingers curling tightly around the base as he continued his work. His tongue wrapped around the head of Harry’s cock as he began to bob his head shallowly, probing the slit and cleaning it thoroughly of every drop of precum and oil. Tom made a rough noise of pleasure that made Harry's breath stutter, seeming to savor the taste of the salty fluid as his cheeks hollowed and he  _ sucked _ . Only the tightening grip of Tom's hand at the base of his dick kept Harry from coming then and there.

Without dropping his intent, heated gaze, Tom slid down the length of Harry's shaft until the stretched ring of his reddened lips met his curled fingers. Harry tried to buck into the wet, encompassing heat in mindless reflex, but between the digits thrusting furiously in and out of his ass and the pressure of the hand wrapped around the base of his cock he was pinned in place like a butterfly. 

At some point, the three fingers pounding in and out of Harry's loosening hole had become four, but the burn of the stretch was lost in the pleasure rocketing through him. Tom held Harry's throbbing length heavy in his mouth, the tip of his cock curving down Tom's throat like it was made to sheathe him. He could feel the muscles in his throat ripple and contract as Tom swallowed around him. Harry undulated in place, back arching and straightening repeatedly as he struggled to catch his breath. Gods, the sight of Tom's lips wrapped around him alone was enough—

_ Harry wanted to come _ . 

The wet heat of Tom's mouth was a torment, the pressure of his tongue against the underside of his cock a benediction, and, throughout it all, Tom continued to work Harry’s ass like he was trying to make him  _ shatter _ . Harry could feel his rim tug with every shallow stroke, stuffed full of Tom's fingers as the thumb traced lazy circles along the outside of the tight ring of flesh. Every time Harry tried to bear down on Tom’s hand, chasing his pleasure, he would draw back and slow down. When Harry tried to thrust up, Tom kept him pinned down. Harry was going mad.

When a particularly clever thrust of Tom’s fingers had Harry’s vision going white around the edges, the hand around the base of his prick clamped down and Harry  _ wailed _ . He fought to catch his breath as his orgasm was stemmed off  _ yet again _ . Tom waited just long enough for Harry to drift back from the edge of climax before swallowing around Harry's cock in what Harry could only term, in a fit of wildly desperate mirth, was a dick move. 

Harry wheezed silently, unable to draw a full breath. He was so close, muscles coiling tight in anticipation of a peak that Tom would just not allow him to crest. Tom's head began to bob up and down in earnest, sucking hard on Harry's prick with a wicked swirl of tongue as it slid out and swallowing him down with slick, easy pressure with every thrust in, Harry trembled. His hands clenched helplessly by his sides with nothing to hold. Harry wanted to bury them back in Tom's hair almost as much as he wanted to climax, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself to not try to take control of the pace.

Before he could make up his mind, Tom was pulling off him, lips stretched wide and dark as Harry's twitching prick slid out of his mouth. As he rose back up to his knees, Tom's hand slid out from inside Harry with one last exquisite stroke against his prostate, leaving him gaping open and horribly empty. With an inarticulate cry, Harry kicked out and wrapped his legs around Tom's chest, ankles locking behind his back as he attempted to hold him in place with desperate strength. 

: _No,_ : Harry hissed, rocking back and flexing his thighs, desperate to pull Tom back to his needy, twitching cock. : _Don't stop. I’m so close, I need—_ **_let me come_**!: Harry demanded, struggling to catch his breath. Despite his urging, Tom stood steady against the press of his legs and Harry made a sound halfway between a snarl and a sob. _No!_ Tom’s lust-blown gaze dropped to linger almost regretfully on Harry’s drooling prick and he cleared his throat hoarsely.

: _ Next time _ ,: Tom murmured, a lewd burr in his molten voice from the abuse he had put his throat through. His glowing crimson eyes flicked back up to lock with Harry's wide, desperate gaze. The light behind them was enough to cast shadows on his skin. : _ Next time, my dear, I'll swallow you to the hilt and suck you dry. You were delicious _ .: Tom ran his hands appreciatively up Harry's flexing thighs and turned his face to the side, kissing the inside of Harry's knee.

Harry barked a laugh, the sound harsh and feral in his ears, and tightened his grip, thrusting his pelvis up in full-blown demand. : _ Next time?:  _ His expression was set, eyes hot and challenging. : _ I don’t care about next time. I thought you promised to ruin me now, _ : he taunted with a gasp as the muscles of his core flexed and rippled around the empty space inside him, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through his body. He could feel the abused flesh of his rim twitching wildly, unable to fully close after Tom had worked him open so thoroughly. A broken, angry whine dropped unbidden from Harry's lips.

: _ And I will, _ : Tom promised, heat licking through his hoarse voice. : _ You'll be dripping me for weeks, Harry, feeling me inside you every time you sway those slutty hips. You won't recognize yourself when I'm done with you, darling. _ : The wet hand that had been working Harry open dropped to palm Tom's neglected cock as he spoke. Tom moaned raggedly at his own touch and the lustful sound pulled on something deep within Harry, a visible tremor running through his naked flesh. He wanted what Tom promised. Wanted to feel the ache of him with every step, to see the marks Tom had left on him bloom with dark color as a warning to the world. Tom had promised to own him, and, in this moment, Harry would settle for nothing less.

Tom's crimson eyes were slitted with pleasure as he pumped idly, coating his throbbing prick with the slick mess of jasmine oil and spit that clung to his hand. His pale flesh caught the light and rippled with gasoline iridescence as he moved. Harry could feel the muscles on Tom's back flex beneath his locked legs with every stroke and the sensation was surprisingly intimate, but Tom was still too far away. 

He hadn't moved a millimeter for all of Harry's struggling, so Harry let his legs unlock and drop to either side of Tom's hips in a loose sprawl. He pushed up off the couch hard with his hands and slid forward in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs, pinning Tom's fisted cock between their bodies as he positioned himself in his lap. Harry's arms wrapped around Tom's neck to brace himself as he arched up, claiming Tom's lips with a careless disregard for Tom's muffled noise of surprise. 

: _ Then do it, _ : Harry snarled, sucking Tom's lower lip into his mouth and biting down harshly before releasing it with a wet pop.

"Fuck me." Harry said. He pressed the lewd words into Tom's mouth as he reclaimed it.

Harry licked into the cavern of Tom's mouth with eager abandon. He tasted like Harry, heat and salt and bitter precum, faintly floral from the oil that still coated Harry's lithe body and something else, something sharp and uniquely Tom. Tom matched him kiss for slick kiss, coaxing every harsh sound of pleasure out of Harry he could reach. Harry ran his tongue across Tom's too-sharp teeth and distractedly wondered how he had managed to take Harry's prick so skillfully without scratching him once on his fangs. 

Tom's hand was trapped between their bodies as they rocked together, still wrapped around his prick, and Harry ground down against the hard knot of it with a moan.  _ Blessed friction _ . Tom shifted his grip and wrapped his long fingers around both of their cocks and Harry broke the enthusiastic kiss with a curse. The feeling of Tom’s length throbbing hot and hard against his own was ecstasy. When Tom pumped once, experimentally, Harry collapsed boneless and shivering against his chest. He tilted his head up to moan lewdly in Tom’s ear.

: _ Impatient, _ : Tom's voice was a strained hiss as he struggled to keep the pace of his hand steady. Harry bit his earlobe hard in reply and bucked into the next stroke in a silent demand. Tom buried his head against the graceful line of Harry's neck with a choked laugh as he released their cocks and slid his hands down to grip the back of Harry's thighs. : _ Such an eager little thing, aren’t you? _ : He murmured, not seeming to need an answer.

Tom lifted him up with ease. Harry threw his arms forward, tightening his grip around Tom’s shoulders and burying his face in the base of his neck. The iridescent light that played across Tom's skin made his lips go numb where they were pressed against him. The scent of cedar and smoke was stronger here and Harry took a deep breath, trying to drown out the lingering reek of jasmine. He licked and nibbled at the salty skin as he did his best to help Tom move him into position, legs splayed wide as he let Tom take most of his weight. Something pressed against the loose, fluttering rim of his hole and one of them moaned. The sound reverberated through their chests and Harry clenched painfully around empty air in anticipation.

The strong hands around Harry's thighs released and Harry was dropped, impaled on the thick cock beneath him in one smooth movement. The copious amounts of jasmine oil eased the way, but the stretch still  _ burned _ . Harry clawed at Tom's back and let out a gasp that would have been a shriek if there had been enough air left in his lungs to manage it. The blunt head of Tom's prick slammed into his prostate with the force of a well-aimed punch and Harry couldn't breathe. He clenched and spasmed around Tom, struggling to adjust.  _ Tom was so big. _

Tom caught his mouth in a kiss as he wrapped his hands around Harry's hips. It was easy to let the languid play of tongue and teeth distract him while Harry’s body fought to adapt to the intrusion.  _ It wasn't the girth so much as the length,  _ Harry thought as his slender frame was wracked by a shudder; Tom was buried so far inside Harry that he was choking on it. As Tom sucked on his tongue, Harry tried to force himself to relax.

Harry dropped a shaking hand behind him to trail his fingers curiously over his stretched rim. The ridged flesh was drawn taut and slick beneath his questing fingertips. Tom’s prick was buried deep, sheathed inside Harry at long last; the thought sent a pulse of heat through Harry and he could feel himself clench and ripple around the throbbing cock inside him. When he shifted his weight a little, the thick shaft of Tom's prick rocked against his prostate in a delicious obscenity. Harry's eyes fluttered at the sensation, struggling to stay open, and Tom groaned softly into his open mouth.

_ Yes _ .

Harry did it again, rolling his hips awkwardly while he kept his fingers splayed loosely over the point where they were connected. He could feel Tom's cock twitch, hot and hard as Harry began to ride him with barely perceptible motions. Experimentally, Harry bore down and swirled his hips, savoring the twinge and pull as muscles unused to the strain shifted inside him. Tom swore, a jumble of Parseltongue and English that Harry didn’t bother trying to pick apart. 

Bracing his arms on Tom's shoulders, Harry let Tom's hands on his hips guide him as he rose up, then sank d own again with a whimper. His thighs flexed as he fumbled for a rhythm, chasing his own pleasure with shameless greed as the muscles of his core clenched and contracted, rippling around the thick cock buried deep inside him as if they never wanted to let go. What began as a little sore and a bit strange quickly grew into an easy glide and Harry began to ride Tom in earnest. He rocked forward, adjusting the angle of the thrust and had to bite back a sob as each new stroke dragged against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him.  _ There, right there _ . Tom groaned, deep and low, and began to thrust up shallowly in tandem. His hands urged Harry to pick up the pace and soon the room was filled with the wet slap of flesh.

Tom was talking again, murmured praise and condescension that Harry barely heard over the static in his ears. Harry let his head fall back, eyes shut as he drowned in the heat of his body and the pleasure that rippled through him. Tom filled him like he was made to fit between his thighs. The curve of his prick made Harry see stars as it dragged across  _ that spot _ inside him and the way he tugged at Harry’s rim with every stroke left them both gasping. When he sank down to the root it was just on this side of  _ too much, _ and when Harry rolled his hips  _ just so _ he could feel Tom’s breath stutter against his throat. It was exquisite, so he did it again and again, intent on driving them both mad. Being filled, being  _ fucked _ was glorious. 

_ At least _ , Harry thought, not bothering to hold back the breathy laugh that bubbled out of him,  _ the ride I sold my soul for is a good one. _

Harry was  _ close _ . His rhythm was becoming erratic and his legs were starting to burn from exertion. As he began to falter, Tom’s grip on his waist tightened. He moved Harry’s body with a frighteningly casual strength, lifting him up and dragging him down like a toy. It was rough and hot and perfect. Every time Tom pulled out Harry could still feel the shape of him deep inside, a sweet aching emptiness, and when he slammed home it forced the air from Harry’s body in a stuttered gasp. It was so good.  _ It was not enough. _ Tom pulled out with an inarticulate curse and pushed Harry down.

He landed flat on his back. Tom was there a heartbeat later, looming over him with a snarl on his lips. Tom grabbed Harry’s legs and threw them up over his shoulders, folding his lean frame nearly in half as Tom lined his cock up and thrust back inside with a harsh grunt. The change in angle nearly made Harry’s vision black out as Tom began to piston in and out, reaching deeper than he had managed before. The pleasure made Harry’s toes curl and he found himself making helpless noises as his body began to shake. His fingers fought for purchase on the slick leather as every powerful thrust threatened to slide him back. Tom leaned over, bracing himself on one hand and letting his head droop as his eyes closed to slits as he focused on chasing his own satisfaction. He was close enough to kiss, but it was all Harry could do at the moment to  _ breathe.  _

Tom tightened his grip on Harry’s thigh and swayed closer, forcing him to bend just a little further. The head of his leaking prick rubbed against his stomach with every jolting thrust, sparking lightning in his veins, and it was barely any friction at all, but he was so close and Tom was slamming home like he intended to brand himself into Harry’s flesh. It was all it took to tip Harry over. He didn’t need anything more. 

Harry  _ keened _ . His balls drew tight against his body and he surged up, wrapping his arms around the back of Tom’s neck as he buried his face in the crook of his shoulder. The muscles in his legs pulled taut as they fought to straighten and his toes curled. Harry could feel himself clamp down on Tom’s thick prick like he was trying to wring him dry and his spine bowed with the force of his climax as he fell apart. 

Finally,  _ finally _ Harry came.

And came _. _

And  _ came _ .

The first shot splashed high enough to hit his jaw. The next several splattered across his heaving chest and stomach as Tom didn’t slow down, didn't stop his relentless pace. He fucked Harry through his orgasm and kept going, panting harshly in his ear. Tom’s fingers were leaving fresh bruises in his thigh and the table was shaking beneath them. Harry’s mouth hung open in a silent scream. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t manage to drag in a lung full of air. His cock was twitching and dribbling with every forceful thrust as Tom milked him dry, electricity surging through his veins in numbing waves. _It was so good_ _it was starting to hurt._ Harry was shaking and writhing in place, bent double and pinned beneath Tom’s driving weight, just a wet hole to sheathe Tom’s cock as he chased his own climax. 

Harry sank his teeth into the corded muscle at the base of Tom’s neck hard enough to taste blood as he fell apart. His hands clawed down Tom’s back hard enough to make Tom hiss into his ear in pain. Harry’s tongue buzzed, numbed by the velveteen heat of Tom’s magic, and something sweet flooded his mouth, a heady and dark liquor unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. It coated his lips and scorched his tongue, burning its way down his throat like Harry was swallowing fire. The taste of ripe cherries, astringent clove and dry and bitter ash was overwhelming and Harry’s magic pulsed wildly around them both, bright enough to cast shadows.

Tom came with a hoarse grunt and a soft, almost hiccoughing sob. His hips faltered in their pace and his rhythm fell apart as a sudden warmth flooded Harry’s ass. The feeling of Tom filling him up made Harry moan around his bloody mouthful of flesh. He could feel himself trying to tighten and clamp down around Tom’s pulsing cock, but his well-fucked hole was struggling to close. Tom ground down against him, buried as deep inside Harry as he could go, as he eked every last measure of bliss he could out of his climax. It’s enough to make Harry’s cock give a last feeble twitch and he came a final time, shooting dry as his vision faded to black.

The taste of cherries followed him down into darkness.

——

Harry wasn't sure how long he slept. When he woke it was to the gentle pressure of a hand stroking down the side of his leg, soothing, rhythmic motions that reeled him sweetly up towards consciousness. Drowsy and replete, Harry let himself enjoy the petting. It felt good to be touched. 

Short nails scratched lightly down his thigh and Harry hummed softly in reply, arching his back in delight. He had to stop before he could complete the stretch as his body complained, hissing his discomfort. Shifting his weight had made his lower body twinge as sore muscles grumbled about their recent abuse.  _ Oh. _ Harry stiffened, suddenly wide awake. His groggy, contented state was swept away by a deluge of memory, startlingly clear in recollection despite the fog that had buried his thoughts at the time.

Tom.

Tom's hands on him, in him. Claiming him, owning him, playing his body like an instrument he was determined to wring every drop of pleasure from. Tom's mouth around him, gods, Tom's tongue _ inside _ him. Harry rolled his hips fractionally at the memory and let out a broken hiss at the sting, voice cracked from misuse. Harry could still feel the phantom shape of that prick within him when he moved, and his rim was sore and pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

As he focused on his tired, abused body, Harry could feel the bruises blooming like flowers, hot and flushed with the promise of color tomorrow. He trailed a hand across his collarbone and up to his jaw and winced. His neck had drawn the worst of it. At some point, Tom must have bitten his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, judging by the way  _ that _ mark was throbbing. Harry probed it with a finger, biting back a quiet noise of pain and dark satisfaction. At least he’d given as good as he’d got.

Of course, that thought only made him flinch. 

The man had swapped his masks effortlessly, ugly praise and twisted truth dropping from his lips like poisoned honey. He had mocked, cajoled and manipulated Harry with a glee that was only visible in hindsight, but Harry had risen to the bait like the brash Gryffindor he was. It made him flush with shame. Harry was supposed to be an Auror, but he had sprinted into the trap without a backwards glance, drawn in by the lure of Tom’s beauty. He had decided that the only way out was through and had arrogantly assumed he could handle anything Bellatrix had prepared for him. 

He had been wrong.

The heat between them, the  _ lust _ that Harry had seen rise in those unforgettable eyes was real, of that much he was sure. Tom’s polished mask had cracked long enough for Harry to peek beneath and the monster had looked back, savage and hungry. Tom had been too raw, too eager and invested in Harry’s pleasure for it to be anything else. Still, it was the memory of the words that had passed between them that was haunting him. The things that Tom had said were bad enough, but what Harry had said in reply?

He had  _ begged _ . 

Fuck, he had  _ demanded _ . He had thrown himself away and commanded Tom to take him. In the beginning, Harry could use the fact that he had been drugged to excuse himself, but by the end of it he'd been shockingly lucid. The desire that had consumed him hadn’t been artificial, Harry had wantonly chased after the pleasure Tom had offered. He had twisted the game around and dared Tom on, hunting as he'd been hunted in turn. Shame warred with satisfaction and Harry felt his cheeks heat. A dark corner of his soul wanted to purr. The rest of him just wanted to  _ curse _ .

"Your face is incredibly expressive," Tom's low voice commented idly from someplace above him. "I don't even need legilimency to know what you're thinking."

Harry froze. He didn’t open his eyes. Seeing Tom would make everything that had happened  _ real _ . Harry swallowed harshly as his chest tightened and his thoughts fluttered like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars of his mind. He was awash in conflicting emotions, a wild cacophony that swung from extreme to extreme with every heartbeat. If Tom knew what he was thinking then he was the only one out of the two of them.

Harry had come to The Spa knowing this was a trap. He had done his research, but had let himself be lulled by the idea that this was just a minor form of torment, just another tiny wound from the pureblood set designed to teach him his place and make him bleed for their amusement. That was, after all, how these things normally went. Someone played a game, tried to maneuver him around on their chessboard and Harry would lose just enough to make them go away. He’d make sure they forgot about him while still keeping the things that  _ mattered _ safe and sheltered, then he’d come back and get his revenge in his own time. 

Harry had arrogantly thought he could spring this trap the same way and escape with minimal harm. He had been wrong, and yet — he was ashamed, but satisfied, bent, but not broken. Harry had yielded the match, but without the drugs to make him compliant, there was still plenty of game to play. He just… had to figure out what the game  _ was _ , first. Once he knew that, he could take the steps to keep the people close to him safe and then—

Tom laughed softly. "Incredibly expressive," He repeated, squeezing Harry's thigh tightly. "It's like you're made of glass." 

Something bubbled in Harry’s chest, cracking through the panic. It was hot and bitter and childish. It made him want to lash out, but a voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning. A part of him knew that Tom was waiting for just such a response, was baiting him to see how he’d react now that the drugs were out of his system. Harry dealt with it the only way he knew how.

Harry made a childish face and stuck out his tongue in a gargoyle’s grimace.

Tom's nails dug into his leg hard enough to layer new bruises on top of old and he hissed an irritated warning, all traces of bemused tolerance gone. Reluctantly, Harry smoothed his expression over, dropping into the pureblood mask too many evenings of reluctant socializing had taught him to don. He let his eyes flutter open, then closed them immediately as the bright, unchanging afternoon sunlight stabbed into them wickedly.

"Ow," Harry croaked. He cautiously raised one eyelid, peeping up at Tom through a veil of dark lashes. Tom was sitting on the narrow padded bench by Harry's side, poised and dressed once more in his well-cut robes. His chestnut hair had been spelled back into perfectly smooth waves and there wasn't a mark on his skin to mar his haughty english beauty. Even his eyes were back to normal, returned to the warm chocolate brown they had been the first time Harry had seen him in the entry courtyard. The glow of his magic had been snuffed out and he looked entirely too smug and self-satisfied. Only a certain subtle laxness at the corners of his eyes hinted at his own satiation.

Harry frowned, then pulled himself up with a wince. He tucked his legs underneath him with a studied nonchalance and he was careful not to accidentally brush against Tom as he resettled. Harry was still nude and disheveled, but surprisingly clean. The slick oil that had coated them both had been vanished while he had slept and the leather massage table had shrunk back down to its original size. The brazier was dark and cold, and the sickeningly powerful scents of jasmine and rosemary had been banished, along with the clouds of potion-laced steam. All Harry could smell now was clean air, cedar and sex.

Harry stared at Tom. Tom stared back. He seemed content to let the silence drag on between them. His eyes were dark with satisfaction as they lingered on the marks that littered Harry's body and it was clear he was in no rush to move on. Harry wondered if he was supposed to be uncomfortable beneath that leering stare. He just felt numb.  _ Fine, then, _ Harry thought, if Tom wanted to play Slytherin games, Harry knew how to ruin them.

"I'm surprised you let me keep the memories," Harry said hoarsely, going straight for the throat. In the state he had been in, it would have been easy enough to alter his mind. Tom had clearly implied that he was a master of mind arts and Harry had seen for himself how easily he had been able to skim his surface thoughts. A flicker of an eyebrow was his only response. Harry waited patiently as he ignored Tom's hot gaze, staunchly refusing to be self-conscious about their differing states of dress. If Tom wanted to play psychological games, he’d have to pick another angle.

"I almost didn't," Tom replied easily after the silence had dragged on for a heartbeat too long. He gestured loosely with one hand as he spoke, a casual and disinterested statement that didn’t match the gleam in his dark gaze. "I thought about it,” Tom admitted cheerfully. “It would certainly have made things simpler and it was the plan going in — even after I learned you shared my gift." Tom shrugged sinuously, a hint of the monster in the quirk of his smile. 

"In the end, it seemed a waste. I can still remove them if you'd prefer." He offered in a low, poisonously sweet tone. Harry shivered and looked away.  _ Point to Tom _ .

"And now?" Harry asked, staring at the chaotic mass of ferns that tumbled down the back wall.

"Now? That's up to you," Tom purred, leaning forward. Harry stiffened and turned back to face him as a long-fingered hand cupped his knee and squeezed delicately. This close, Harry could see the faint specks of russet and gold suspended in Tom's chocolate brown irises, could count the hairs in his thick brows and watch his red lips curve around every word. Harry swallowed, dragging his gaze away from Tom's mouth. Tom smirked. Harry let his lashes drop to veil his eyes as he bit his lip and blushed delicately. The hand on his knee clenched a little bit harder and Harry sensed more than saw the way Tom swayed fractionally closer, drawn in against his will.  _ Point to Harry _ .

He touched Harry's jaw lightly with the tips of his fingers, tilting his face towards him. "Are you mine as you claimed, Harry Potter?" Tom crooned into the charged space between them. "Will you take my mark?" Tom's hand dropped and he began to stroke the delicate skin of Harry's neck, tracing his way down the blooming bruises with fascination. His smile was coquettish as he added, "You wear the others well enough."

Harry swallowed, ignoring the way Tom's eyes tracked the bob of his adam's apple. "Mark?" He asked cautiously. The word rang ominously between them, clearly laden with a deeper meaning than Harry could easily read. What sort of a mark?

His mind skittered around, looking for a way out of this trap, but Harry was well and truly cornered. The larger threats against his person and his family aside, Harry was unarmed and Tom— Tom wasn't. Even if that changed, Harry was currently seated at the center of Tom’s power. With his magic once more coming easily to his command, it was the work of an instant to brush it against the countless wards he could now sense surrounding  _ The Spa _ . It had been one thing when Harry had thought he had a chance to grab his wand while Tom was away, but now, stripped of everything but his wits and pinned beneath that hellish gaze, any attempt to flee would be suicidal at best. At worst... Harry kept his body still and controlled his breathing. There was a monster in the room with him; he would not win free with rash panic.

"Just a small magic so others will know where your loyalties lie," Tom told him, raising a hand to press his thumb against the swollen bite at the base of Harry's neck. He leaned forward to kiss the tender flesh with unsettling gentleness. Harry shivered at the featherlight touch, remembering the blissful sting of teeth. "Something a little more permanent than these."

Harry closed his eyes, thinking furiously. Tom was being deliberately vague, but— Harry had no choice. If he refused and Tom took his memories, the game was over. His only chance to win free was to keep playing. Harry let his eyes flutter open and carefully controlled his expression, making sure not to meet Tom’s gaze directly. There was no benefit to giving Tom an easy path into his mind.

"What do I need to do?" Harry asked quietly, staring straight ahead. He saw Tom’s lips crook into a feral smile for a fraction of an instant before his face smoothed over. His expression was bland and guileless as he let his fingers drop from Harry’s knee.

"You just need to welcome my magic, Harry, nothing more. The more you can bring yourself to embrace it, the less it will hurt." Tom's yew wand was in his hand again, pulled from some hidden pocket, and he pressed the tip gently against the center of Harry's collarbone. "Deep breath, darling," Tom drawled, eyes crinkling in a smile that flashed too-sharp teeth. " _ Mensdolus _ ."

Harry took in a breath— and choked on it. Blistering pain made spots dance in front of his eyes, and only the shocking suddenness of it kept Harry from throwing himself back and away. It felt like someone had dropped a burning chain around his neck, spooling out from the tip of Tom's wand to sear its way through delicate flesh and char bone. Only— it wasn't fire. It was ice, blackening his skin and tearing him apart as his cells ruptured and died, rotted from within. His lips numbed and his mouth tasted like cloves and ash. He would never be warm again and he was a pyre, all at once.

Lips pressed to his forehead; a murmuring voice that spoke the language of his soul. : _ Yield, Harry. _ : Harry bit his lip.  _ Yes _ . For now, he had to bear this.

Harry relaxed into the weight of that pain, and, like frost, it thinned and melted away beneath his fingers. He took a cautious breath, then another when the first didn't hurt, and his eyes fluttered open, damp lashes clumping as he blinked away tears. He could still feel the magic, fizzing and restless where it looped around his neck, but already it was settling and etching itself into his skin. Before he could crane his neck to get a better look at it, Tom was crowding in again, catching Harry's face in his hands and leaning down to kiss him.

Harry kissed back, allowing himself to be drawn into the hungry, open-mouthed pace of it. He told himself that it was yet another thing he had to bear for the moment and resolutely ignored the half-hearted twitch his exhausted cock gave as Tom sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down. When Tom pulled away, his brown eyes gone coppery and bright, both of them were flushed and breathing heavy.

: _ It looks good on you _ ,: Tom purred, staring at his brand of ownership with shameless heat in his eyes. Harry flushed and bit back the urge to cover himself. Overt resistance would only urge Tom to greater possessive heights. Tom's wand flicked and wove through the air, casting a handful of silent spells that washed over Harry in an increasingly familiar brush of magic. The soreness in his body faded, well-used muscles easing as the numerous small bruises, scratches and welts healed up. Harry's skin tingled from the thorough cleansing charm that followed and when he reached up to gingerly touch his hair, he found it springy and light instead of matted with sweat.

"Why—" Harry began, looking up as Tom rose to his feet to loom over him. He wasn't given the chance to finish.

"I told you," Tom spoke solemnly as he circled Harry like a shark, admiring his handiwork. He brushed one elegant hand across Harry's shoulder in passing as if he could not resist the urge to touch. He paused in front of Harry to press a finger against the center of his collarbone in the same divot where his wand had rested mere moments before. Harry had to fight the urge to look down.  _ He wanted to see the mark _ . Tom’s smile was satisfied and cold as the tip of his nail dug into Harry’s skin painfully. "I take care of what is  _ mine _ ," he said, snarling the last word with a hot possessiveness that should not have made Harry shiver the way it did.

"And my father?" Harry asked softly, staring into the distance over Tom’s shoulder. Shame and lust and furious satisfaction were tangled through him, and Harry could feel panic flash in the distance like a storm on the horizon, but all of that was set aside to be dealt with later. Tom's answer was what mattered now.

"I'll find another way to deal with him," Tom answered, cold and decisive. "He'll need to be brought to heel one way or another, Harry, but as long as you obey, he'll come to no permanent harm." Lips pressed against the crown of his head and there was a soft 'click' of hinges unfolding. Gentle hands settled Harry's glasses back on his face, allowing the blurred world to swim back into focus and Harry's breath caught in his throat. There was something so intimate about the action, the contrast of thoughtful regard and chilling threat making for a dizzying whirl that Harry couldn't begin to decipher. "Someone will show you to the baths."

Tom was striding away, walking towards the door as his robes fluttered in his wake. He raised one hand to press against the milky white shield that blocked the entrance, then paused. : _ I'll call on you tomorrow _ ,: Tom warned, the words a silken promise that sent a frisson of fear down Harry’s spine. The door parted with a chime and Tom was gone in a swirl of pale robes.

Harry was alone. 

_ He waited.  _

Tom did not return.

Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and wondered if he was about to break. It wouldn't have been an unreasonable response, he thought mildly. As he saw it, he had every reason to sob and rage and rail against the world. Harry had kept everything together by focusing on the threat in the room, by living in the moment like an auror on the battlefield, but the moment was over and now the bleak future stretched out before him. Harry inhaled and exhaled, steady and slow. Nothing happened. The emotional storm loomed, but didn't descend.

Harry gathered himself and stood up on shaky legs.  _ Alright then _ .

Mechanically, Harry approached the sheltered corner where he had changed clothes what felt like a lifetime ago. His eyes slid bitterly off the folded sheet on the bench and fastened on his holster with relief. Harry armed himself immediately and swayed in place as relief punched through him at the familiar touch of his wand. The smooth wood felt like a friend in his hand and Harry let relief swamp him as the handle warmed in his grip. After a steadying breath, he sheathed the wand and began to dress himself. He stubbornly refused to look at his reflection in the mirror until he was down. When all that remained was to button up his dark outer robe, he turned to meet his gaze in the rectangular mirror like a man condemned.

Harry looked… the same, yet somehow subtly altered. He was more  _ himself _ , like he'd been purified in a crucible and distilled down to his essential parts. His eyes were brighter, flashing with heightened emotion and the magic that still boiled dangerously close to the surface, but that was all. His throat — Harry laughed, a sharp and unamused sound as he lifted a shaking hand to touch the purpled love bites that swarmed up and down the column of his neck. They didn't hurt at his touch. Tom had healed the damage and taken away the pain, but he had left the color behind in a chorus of ownership that even the high neckline of his robe wouldn't hide. Harry dropped his hand to the collar of his t-shirt and hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see.

Harry let his eyes close as he swayed in place. He allowed himself the one moment of dread, of grief, of strange and frightening desire before they flickered open once more, sharp with steely resolve.  _ He had to know _ .

Tensing his jaw, Harry dragged the threadbare cotton fabric down and bared his collarbone and shoulders. Thin white lines spun a graceful circle around his neck, etching the body of a snake complete with dappled scales. It met itself in a diamond shaped Celtic knot below the hollow of his throat, a creature with no beginning and no end. A collar, so like the living one he had worn before. Harry shuddered. An ouroboros, consuming itself and being consumed in turn.

When he raised a hand and tapped the lines, they undulated gently and Harry let out an undignified yelp.  _ Merlin _ , he could feel that! Cold scales whispered like silk across his bare flesh as the snake twisted in place. For a moment Harry thought he saw the flash of a crimson eye peeking out of the serpentine tangle on his collarbone, but it was gone before he could be sure. 

Harry didn't touch it again. The white lines were difficult to see against his skin until he moved. When they caught the light they flashed like old, silvered scars, but Harry knew as soon as he caught a drop of sun they'd show clearly against his tan. Something about the way the magical brand felt under his fingertips told him it would be difficult to glamour and Harry’s thoughts whirled as he wondered how he’d hide it. 

Harry began to laugh. He shook his head and smiled, the expression feral and toothy where he caught it in the mirror. He had been magically collared by a monster, and he was sitting here, twitting about his vanity as if that  _ mattered _ . At this rate he'd turn into Lavender.

Harry swirled his robes over his shoulders and buttoned the throat. Touching a finger to the bruises along his jaw, he wondered for a second if it was worth risking Tom's anger to cast a concealing spell, but— no. He refused to be ashamed. Let Tom think them a mark of ownership if he wished, Harry knew better. Harry straightened, letting anger firm his step as he made for the door.

This wasn't over. Tom might have won the first round, but Harry could still taste the stolen bite of Tom's magic on his tongue, clove and ripe cherries and bitter ash. For a fraction of a moment, a second heartbeat throbbed in his ears. The war wasn’t lost yet, not by a long shot.

END

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave kudos and comments! I don't really have any confidence in what I'm doing yet and your responses are feeding my will to write.


End file.
